LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


HARRIET  HOSMER 
LETTERS  AND   MEMORIES 


f^oS^^/lj    ///9/eyeV^7*      S'0CC//7i^<S 

HARRIET    HOSMER 

LETTERS     AND     MEMORIES 


EDITED    BY 

CORNELIA  CARR 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW   YORK 

MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 
1912 


Copyright,  1912,  bt 
MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 

All  Rights  Reserved 


THE  QUINN   &   eODEN    CO.    PRESS 
RAHWAY,   n.  J. 


TO    THE   PATER 


Grateful  acknowledgments  are  tendered 
to  those  who  have  kindly  loaned  letters  or 
who  have  granted  permission  to  use  those 
which  were  written  to  Miss  Hosmer.  Where 
it  has  not  been  possible  to  reach  others  or 
their  representatives  sanction  is  here  asked, 
as  nothing  of  intimate  value  has  been  used. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

FOREWORD ,        .         xi 

CHAPTER  I 

1830-1852 

Early  Life— School  Days — Mrs.  Sedgwick — Mrs,  Fanny  Kemble— St. 
Louis — The  West  and  the  South — Mount  Hosmer — Miss  Cushman — 
Hesper 1 

CHAPTER  II 

1852-1854 

Leaving  Home — Rome — John  Gibson — Daphne — Medusa — Rauch — An 
Important  Commission— Mrs.  Adelaide  Kemble  Sartoris — Beginning 
the  World  in  Earnest— Another  Large  Order — The  Campagna  Parties      21 

CHAPTER  III 

1854-1857 

Mr.   and  Mrs.    Browning — CEnone — Frederick    Leighton — Ride    from 

Rome  to  Florence  by  Moonlight — Puck 44 

CHAPTER  IV 

1857 

London— Return  to  America— Beatrice  Cenci— The  Clasped  Hands — 
In  Florence  with  the  Brownings— Mrs.  Jameson— Some  Records  of 
the  Florentine  Visit 82 

CHAPTER  V 

1857-1860 

In  the  Studio  Again — The  Falconuet  Monument — Zenobia — Will-o'-the- 
Wisp — Psychical  Experiences — Letters  from  John  Gibson — Mrs. 
Kemble — Mrs.  Child — Mrs.  Jameson 115 

CHAPTER  VI 

1860-1863 

Sudden  Return  Home — Benton  Monument — Prince  of  Wales  in  Boston — 
Fountain  of  Ilylas  and  the  Water  Nymphs — Sir  Honry  Layard — The 
Civil  War — The  Death  of  Mrs.  Browning — Mrs.  Mary  Somerville    .     155 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VII 
1864-1866 

PAGE 

Zenobia— The  Caflfe  Greco— George  S.  Hillard— The  Roman  Hunts— The 
Sleeping  Faun— The  Dublin  Exhibition— The  Studio— Death  of  John 
Gibson — Bronze  Gate  for  an  Academy  of  Design       ....     191 

CHAPTER  VIII 

1866-1868 

The  "Waking  Faun— Chimney-piece,  The  Death  of  the  Dryads — Visits  in 
the  British  Isles — The  Ghost  from  Bunker  Hill — The  Pompeiian  Sen- 
tinel— Inauguration  of  the  Benton  Statue 220 

CHAPTER  IX 

1869-1871 

The  Queen  of  Naples,  Her  Statue — Three  Bavarian  Kings — Unpublished 
"Poem"  of  Browning — Sir  "William  Boxall— Empress  of  Austria — 
Fighting  in  Eome— A  Modern  "  Flood  "—The  Shaker  Hats     .        .     270 

CHAPTER  X 

1871-1876 

Visit  to  Garatshausen — Munich — The  Making  of  a  "Will — Roman 
Theatricals — Accident  in  the  Hunting  Field — Miss  Cushman's 
Death — Visits  with  the  King  and  Queen  of  Naples  to  "Warwick  and 
Castle  Ashby— Carlyle  and  Art — "Wilton  House         ....     295 

CHAPTER  XI 

1878-1888 

Melchet  Court — Fountains  of  The  Mermaid's  Cradle  and  The  Dolphin — 
Brahau  Castle— Death  of  Sir  "William  Boxall— Design  for  a  Lincoln 
Monument — The  African  Sibyl 313 

CHAPTER  XII 

1891-1908 

Statue  of  Queen  Isabella— "William  "Wetmore  Story— Francis  Power 
Cobbe— Sir  Frederick  Leighton— Medals  and  Decorations— Ely 
Cathedral— Lady  Ashburton 324 

APPENDICES 361 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Harriet  Hosmer,  Photogravure Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

Mount  Hosmer 12 

Medusa 24 

CEnone 42 

Puck 78 

Beatrice  Cenci 84 

The  Clasped  Hands  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning 92 

The  Fountain  of  the  Siren 178 

Harriet  Hosmer  at  Work  on  Benton 180 

The  Favorite  Hunter 184 

Zenobia 200 

Mrs.  Dent's  Bonnet 206 

The  Sleeping  Faun 210 

John  Gibson 218 

The  Waking  Faun 220 

Will-o'-the-Wisp 222 

The  Death  of  the  Dryads 224 

Castle  Ashby 234 

Raby  Castle 236 

Ashridge 238 

Harriet  Hosmer  and  Her  Workmen 250 

The  Statue  of  Thomas  H.  Benton 260 

Wayman  Crow 262 

Loch  Luichart  Lodge 276 

The  Staghound 291 

Melchet  Court 298 

Wilton  House 312 

Brahan  Castle 314 

The  African  Sibyl 320 

Ely  Cathedral     . 348 

Compton  Wynyates 354 


FOREWORD 

At  a  first  glance  it  would  seem  an  easy  task  to 
arrange  the  following  papers  in  such  manner  as  to 
show  the  way  that  led  an  earnest  and  courageous 
young  artist  to  honor  and  success;  but  it  has  not 
proved  so.  Among  several  hundred  letters  only  three 
have  been  found  that  bear  the  date  of  the  year  in 
which  they  were  written.  The  writer  used  the  thinnest 
of  paper  and  the  palest  of  ink,  both  of  which  are  con- 
ducive to  error  in  transcribing.  These  facts,  and  a 
fading  memory,  which  may  well  be  at  fault  in  looking 
back  over  the  correspondence  of  half  a  century,  must 
plead  for  consideration  where  the  letters  are  not  placed 
in  correct  sequence. 

For  those  unacquainted  with  Harriet  Hosmer's 
early  life,  a  brief  mention  of  it  will  suffice,  leaving 
the  outHne  of  her  busy  and  happy  career  to  be  gleaned 
from  her  own  words.  To  no  one  else  did  she  write 
so  freely  and  consecutively  of  her  work  and  her  life 
abroad,  as  to  her  early  friend,  Mr.  Wayman  Crow,  to 
whom  the  majority  of  the  letters  were  addressed.  A 
few  others,  to  and  from  friends,  have  been  added, 
by  way  of  giving  a  little  more  fully  the  story  of  a 
life  that  never  seemed  so  vivid  after  she  lost  the  sym- 

xi 


xii  FOREWORD 

pathy,  almost  the  inspiration,  of  him  whom  she  called 
"  The  Pater."  If  in  these  letters  to  him  she  quotes 
words  of  praise  and  cheer  which  were  given  to  her, 
it  is  with  the  desire  of  justifying  his  belief  in  her 
power  of  achievement,  and  not  from  any  motive  of 
vanity.  Her  letters  were  so  interwoven  with  intimate 
comment  and  loving  words,  that  it  has  been  difficult 
to  eliminate  all  of  these  and  still  retain  what  came 
fresh  from  her  heart.  Her  conversation  was  so  full 
of  badinage  and  rhyme,  that  they  seemed  naturally 
to  form  a  part  of  her  writings.  At  the  risk  of  their 
appearing  unimportant,  the  merry  joke  and  the 
familiar  doggerel  which  are  characteristic,  have  been 
left  unpruned.  These  lighted  up  the  more  serious 
side  of  her  nature  and  made  her  the  joyous,  fascinat- 
ing being  that  she  was,  a  fit  companion  to  her  own 
Puck  I 

One  word  more.  If  undue  prominence  is  given  to 
Old  World  hosts,  hostesses,  and  homes,  it  is  because 
much  of  her  time  was  passed  among  them,  not  only 
in  enjoying  the  cordial  hospitality  of  the  owners,  but 
in  studying  their  matchless  treasures  of  art.  In  less 
frequent  visits  to  her  native  land,  she  was  occupied  by 
her  work;  and  then,  too,  "ancestral  halls"  and  "pic- 
turesque castles  "  were  non-existent  in  the  New  World. 
Later,  she  quitted  Italy  with  its  changing  life  and 
scenes,  and  while  lamenting  the  old  Rome,  she  left 
the  new  city  to  its  new  birth.     It  had  lost  its  hold 


FOREWORD  xiu 

upon  her  heart.  Forsaldng  marble  and  workmen,  she 
spent  the  later  years  of  her  life,  partly  in  England, 
partly  in  America,  among  those  whom  she  loved  and 
who  were  devoted  to  her.  She  was  never  idle.  Her 
busy  brain  was  unceasingly  at  work  on  favorite  de- 
signs, and  she  was  happy  in  plans  for  future  activity. 
The  work  dreamed  of  by  her  would  easily  have  filled 
another  lifetime.  But  the  end  came  unexpectedly  to 
her,  and  to  all.  After  a  brief  illness,  with  mind  un- 
dimmed,  on  the  21st  of  February,  1908,  she  passed 

into  the  Higher  Life. 

C.  C. 

Cambkidge,  January  1912. 


I! 


CHAPTER  I 

1830-1852 

Harriet  Goodhue  Hosmer,  the  youngest  child 
of  Hiram  and  Sarah  (Grant)  Hosmer,  was  born  on 
the  9th  of  October,  1830,  in  Watertown,  Massachu- 
setts. From  her  father,  a  distinguished  physician, 
she  inherited  her  great  mental  activity  and  her  inde- 
pendence of  character,  while  from  her  mother  she  de- 
rived the  more  artistic  elements  of  her  nature.  The 
death  of  the  latter,  when  Harriet  was  four  years  of 
age,  left  her  and  a  sister,  two  years  her  senior,  to  the 
anxious  care  of  their  father.  Desirous  of  guarding 
them  against  the  subtle  disease  which  had  robbed  him 
of  his  wife  and  two  sons,  Dr.  Hosmer  adopted,  with 
his  daughters,  a  method  of  physical  training  at  that 
time  unusual  in  the  education  of  girls.  "  There  is  a 
lifetime,"  he  said,  "  for  the  cultivation  of  the  mind,  but 
the  body  develops  in  a  few  years,  and  during  that 
period  nothing  should  be  permitted  to  interfere  with 
its  free  and  healthy  growth." 

Even  this  wise  course  proved  to  be  of  no  avail  with 
the  elder  girl.  Her  death  six  years  later,  greatly  in- 
creased the  father's  anxiety  concerning  his  remaining 
child.  Accordingly,  he  encouraged  her  to  live  an 
out-of-door  life.  He  gave  her  a  spirited  horse,  a  dog, 
and  a  gun,  and  at  the  foot  of  his  garden,  by  which 
ran  the  Charles  River,  she  had  her  boat-house  and 
bath-house   and  indulged  in  the  delights   of  rowing. 


g  HARRIET  HOSMER 

swimming,  and  in  winter  of  skating.  This  free  and 
happy  hfe  not  only  brought  its  reward  in  the  glowing 
health,  the  sturdy  frame,  and  muscular  development 
of  the  girl,  but  it  fostered  in  a  heart  where  lay  dor- 
mant so  great  a  love  of  the  beautiful  in  art,  an  equal 
love  for  the  beautiful  in  Nature.  For  miles  around 
there  was  no  wildwood  path  which  she  had  not  ex- 
plored; Charles  River  boasted  no  shady  cove  in  wliich 
her  boat  had  not  rested,  and  no  neighboring  hillside  was 
left  unclimbed  in  her  search  for  mosses  and  wild  flowers. 

As  time  wore  on  and  Dr.  Hosmer  saw  that  she  was 
strong  enough  to  bear  the  confinement  of  studj?^,  he 
placed  her  at  school  in  Boston.  She  was  loth,  how- 
ever, to  give  up  her  out-door  delights,  and  after  sev- 
eral years  of  intermittent  study,  he  decided,  as  she 
was  entering  upon  her  sixteenth  year,  to  place  her 
where  she  would  have,  in  addition  to  the  broadest  in- 
tellectual culture,  a  due  amount  of  healthful  freedom 
combined  with  motherly  care.  This  was  found  in  the 
home-school  of  Mrs.  Charles  Sedgwick  of  Lenox, 
Massachusetts,  then  a  primitive  village  amid  the 
Berksliire  Hills  where  the  Sabbath  began  at  sundown 
on  Saturday  and  ended  at  sunset  on  Sunday,  while 
now  it  is  one  of  the  most  frequented  of  summer 
resorts.  It  was  in  this  refined  and  delightful  interior 
that  Harriet  developed  into  womanhood  according  to 
her  individual  bent,  without  any  effort  on  the  part 
of  her  teacher  to  coerce  her  natural  tendencies. 

It  also  was  a  home  in  which  she  enjoyed  unusual 
opportunities  for  companionship  and  culture.  The 
families  of  Sedgwick  and  D wight  (to  the  latter  of 
wliich  Mrs.  Sedgwick  belonged)  were  among  the  oldest 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  3 

and  intellectually  most  prominent  in  New  England, 
and  in  this  sheltered  home  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sedgwick 
had  preserved,  and  in  themselves  embodied,  all  that 
was  best  of  New  England  life  and  thought.  With 
them  lived  Mr.  Sedgwick's  sister,  Miss  Catherine  M. 
Sedgwick,  at  that  time  America's  foremost  authoress. 
This  charming  household,  during  the  many  years  of 
its  existence,  never  failed  to  attract  distinguished  men 
and  women,  both  from  home  and  from  abroad. 
Among  such  visitors  were  Fredrika  Bremer,  Frances 
Anne  Kemble,  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  Francis  J. 
Child,  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  and  others  equally  val- 
ued. Being  thus  early  brought  into  familiar  inter- 
course with  some  of  the  creative  minds  of  the  day, 
and  amid  the  inspiring  scenery  of  the  Berkshires,  the 
young  girl  was  soon  led  to  feel  the  stimulus  for  serious 
work.  During  the  next  few  years,  while  she  remained 
under  Mrs.  Sedgwick's  judicious  supervision,  much 
of  her  leisure  time  was  given  to  drawing,  though  she 
had  not  then  determined  upon  a  profession. 

Another  factor  which  entered  largely  into  her  suc- 
cess in  after  life  was  the  acquaintance  which  at  this 
time  she  formed  with  Mr.  Wayman  Crow,  of  St. 
Louis,  Missouri,  the  father  of  her  chosen  classmate. 
This  liberal-minded  gentleman,  from  the  first,  gave  her 
needed  sympathy  and  encouragement,  and  during  his 
whole  life  was  a  helpful,  stimulating,  and  generous 
friend. 

During  the  happy  Lenox  days,  Harriet  was  truly 
the  life  of  the  house.  Already  the  mingling  of  the 
grave  and  the  gay  in  her  temperament  made  her 
wonderfully  attractive  to  minds  of  varied  tone  and  of 


4  HARRIET  HOSMER 

divers  ages.  Her  impro^'isations,  comic  lectures,  cha- 
rades, and  impromptu  theatricals,  even  her  daring  esca- 
pades, were  enjoyed  by  all,  including  the  guests  of  the 
family.  Among  the  latter  none  delighted  more  than 
Mrs.  Fanny  Kemble  in  these  simple  frolics.  She 
made  her  home  in  Lenox  during  these  years  and  she 
was  often  wont  to  say,  "  Come,  Hatty,  do  give  us 
some  fun  to-night."  Whereupon,  nothing  daunted 
by  having  a  famous  actress  in  her  audience,  and  that 
one  a  Kemble,  the  young  girl  would  give  some  foolish, 
perhaps,  but  bright  and  laughable  thing,  that  changed 
the  quiet  evening  of  a  mountain  village  into  one  of 
merriment.  Upon  one  of  these  occasions  she  intro- 
duced into  the  entertainment  a  bit  of  doggerel,  a  mix- 
ture of  French  and  English,  which  quite  convulsed 
her  small  audience,  especially  as  in  reading  the  so- 
called  *'  poem  "  her  pronunciation  of  the  French  was 
even  more  ingenious  than  the  ideas  or  text.  The 
whole  was  a  medley  of  mood  and  tense,  gender,  num- 
ber, and  person.  Nothing  mattered  except  the  jingle. 
It  will  suffice  to  give  several  verses  of  it,  adding  a 
few  words  of  her  very  original  pronunciation  to  faintly 
indicate  the  rest.    It  was  entitled: 

"  LINES  SUPPOSED  TO  BE  WRITTEN  BY  AN  ANGLO- 
FRENCHMAN  AND  ADDRESSED  TO  HIS 
LADY  LOVE 

"  Regardez-tu,  Regardez-tu  * 
L'amour  sublime  que  j'ai  pour  vous. 
Tu  seulement,  tu  Madame, 
Excites  dans  moi  la  tendre  flamme. 

*  Pronounced  "  Riggerdy-too,"     "  Riggerdy-too,"  which  became  a  familiar 
quotation  with  Mrs.  Kemble  and  also  with  the  schoolgirls. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  5 

Vous  seulement,  pouvez  en  moi 
Faire  le  coeur  sauter  de  joie, 
Vous,  ah  vous,  mon  Arabella 
(Si  le  dire  n'est  criminelle) 
Par  ces  yeux  si  clairs,  si  forts, 
Mettre  mes  poumons  dans  transport. 
Voila  pourquoi !  je  vous  aime 
De  toute  la  vigueur  de  moi-meme. 

"  Regardez-tu,  Rcgardez-tu 
L'amour  sublime  que  j'ai  pour  vous. 
Oh  Arabelle!  je  ne  puis  pas  dire 
L'amour  pour  vous,  si  fort,  si  fier. 
Je  ne  puis  pas,  plus  que  si  la  langue 
Etait  sans,  au  lieu  qu'  avec  le  sang. 
Mes  dents  caquetent  quand  je  parle  a  toi, 
Mais  pour  ma  vie  je  ne  sais  pour  quoi, 
Et  mes  jambes  se  frissonnent  de  concert, 
Quand  je  vais  vous  demander  de  votre  pere. 
Voila  pourquoi!  je  vous  aime 
De  toute  la  vigueur  de  moi-meme. 

"  Regardez-tu,  Regardez-tu 
L'amour  sublime  que  j'ai  pour  vous. 
Si  chaq'un  etait  un   fromage  vert, 
Presse  dans  la  meilleure  maniere, 
Et  tu,  mon  Arabelle  si  beau, 
N'etais  rien  que  le  dehors  peau, 
Et,  s'ils  me  questionnaient  quel  je  preferais 
La  response,  '  Le  dehors  s'il  vous  plait,' 
Voila  pourquoi!  je  vous  aime 
De  toute  la  vigueur  de  moi-meme." 

This  note  bears  testimony  to  that  merry  life: 

MISS  C.  M.  SEDGWICK  TO  HARRIET  HOSMER. 

54  E.  16th  St.,  New  York,  Jan.  16,  1849. 
My  dear  Hatty: 

...  I  have  met  with  nothing  in  this  city  so  brilliant 
or  half  so  pleasant  as  some  of  om*  evenings  at  "  The 


6  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Hive."  *  .  .  .  My  love  to  the  long-room  circle  and 
particularly  to  your  dear  chum  .  .  .  Now,  dear  Miss 
Spindle,  remember  the  old  and  honest  adage,  "  A 
fair  exchange  is  no  robbery,"  and  send  me  the  promised 
return  to  the  signature  of 

Your   very   affectionate    friend, 

C.  M.  Sedgwick. 

For  several  years  Mrs.  Kemble  occupied  a  villa 
about  a  mile  from  the  village  of  Lenox,  "  The  Perch," 
which  she  had  taken  in  order  to  be  near  her 
friends,  the  Sedgwicks.  Here  she  warmly  welcomed 
the  schoolgirls,  some  of  whom  were  friends  of  her 
own  two  daughters.  And  it  seems  but  fair  to  say 
that  there  was  never  any  gifted  woman  more  generous 
and  ready  to  contribute  her  share  to  the  entertainment 
of  others  than  she  was.  In  proof  of  this,  as  Saturday 
afternoon  was  a  half-holiday  in  her  friend's  school, 
it  was  her  custom  to  appear  in  the  recitation  room, 
Shakespeare  in  hand,  and  proceed  to  read  to  the  as- 
sembled household,  in  her  own  matchless  way,  the  half 
of  a  play.  Never  was  any  audience  so  entranced  as 
those  "  slips  of  girls,"  or  any  homage  more  intense 
than  that  which  her  adoring  young  listeners  tendered 
her.  At  the  end  of  a  reading,  she  always  invited  them 
to  come  to  "  The  Perch "  in  the  evening  and  hear 
the  concluding  acts  of  the  play,  an  invitation  joyously 
accepted.  If  the  play  were  a  tragedy,  at  its  conclu- 
sion Mrs.  Kemble  would  seat  herself  at  the  piano, 
saying,  "  Now,  girls,  a  dance."  Or  if  a  comedy  had 
been  read,  the  music  and  dance  followed  to  sober  them 
down  for  the  stroll  home,  through  the  scented  pine 

♦  Mrs.  Charles  Sedgwick's  place. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  7 

woods.  This  was  a  rare  and  happy  Me  for  any  young 
person,  but  especially  for  one  of  Harriet's  taste  and 
appreciation.  The  friendship  thus  begun  between  this 
gifted  woman  and  the  artist  lasted  through  long  years, 
to  the  end. 

The  following  quaint  letter,  one  of  the  few  that 
have  been  preserved,  from  the  artist's  father,  came  to 
her  while  in  Lenox,  and  indicates  his  lofty  teaching: 

Watertown,  Feb.  27,  1849. 
My  dear  daughter: 

The  allegory  so  much  desired  followeth.  *'  An 
old  man  sat  before  his  winter  fire,  which  flick- 
ered hke  his  life,  to  keep  the  last  night  of  the  year, 
with  thought  and  with  memory.  His  had  been  an 
ill-spent  life,  his  character  had  been  moulded  by  the 
fierceness  of  his  passions  and  the  obstinacy  of  his 
circumstances.  He  had  never  secured  a  position  be- 
yond their  malignant  influences,  and  his  soul  had  al- 
ways fluctuated  between  vice  and  virtue,  the  prey  of 
every  impulse.  As  he  sat  and  mused,  the  wasted  years 
passed  before  him  in  procession,  and  the  whole  domain 
of  his  life  lay  stretched  out  like  a  desert  swept  by  the 
hot  simoom,  strewed  with  good  intentions  and  favoring 
moments,  like  rich  caravans  which  never  reach  their 
journey's  end.  On  the  verge  of  this  desolation  lay 
the  green  time  of  his  youth,  like  the  first  flush  of 
morning,  and  the  old  man's  seared  heart  was  touched 
with  the  memory  of  its  promise  and  the  bitter  contrast 
of  its  non-fulfilment.  Vividly  came  to  him  again,  those 
hopes  and  impulses  indulged  in  so  long  ago,  gradually 
one  after  another  wrecked  and  scattered.  He  felt  the 
ancient  time,  when  virtue  was  yet  a  possibility  and 
the  lordly  structure  of  a  character  filled  the  vista  of 
liis  wishes;  then  the  dreadful  thought  that  his  character 
had  been  ruined  and  his  life  made  a  failure  forced  from 


8  HARRIET  HOSMER 

him  the  exclamation,  '  Return,  oh,  return,  years  of 
promise — return,  golden  opportunities  for  virtue — give 
me  back  my  youth  that  I  may  yet  be  good  and  just.' 
And  he  had  his  wish ;  for  it  was  the  New  Year's  dream 
of  a  young  man,  and  he  awoke  in  his  hopelessness  and 
all  the  possibilities  of  life  lay  fair  and  enticing  before 
him,  and  he  could  yet  make  the  untried  future  blossom 
like  the  rose.  Let  us  reverence  our  youth.  Let  us 
stand  in  awe  before  our  opportunities,  for  there  have 
been  lives  worse  than  the  horrors  of  the  most  painful 
dream." 

My  daughter,  read  the  above  with  attention,  re- 
member it,  and  make  it  serve  you  as  a  guide  and  a 
beacon  in  establishing  a  character,  a  good  character, 
without  which  life  is  certainly  a  failure.  This  is  writ- 
ten before  the  arrival  of  an  answer  to  my  last,  sent 
with  the  books  you  wished.  .  .  . 

Your  father, 

H.  HoSMER. 

In  1849  Harriet  quitted  Lenox  for  her  home  in 
Watertown  and  began  to  prepare  for  her  life's  work 
by  taking  lessons  in  modelling.  In  this  she  was  ham- 
pered by  ignorance  of  human  anatomy  and  the  in- 
ability to  obtain,  from  any  college  in  New  England, 
a  course  of  instruction  in  it,  for  it  must  be  remembered 
that  sixty  years  ago  the  facilities  in  America  for  even 
beginning  the  study  of  Art  were  but  meagre.  How- 
ever, in  the  autumn  of  1850  she  went  to  visit  her 
friends  in  St.  Louis,  and  it  was  there,  that,  through  the 
influence  of  Mr.  Wayman  Crow,  the  head  of  the  medi- 
cal department  of  the  state  university.  Dr.  J.  N.  Mc- 
Dowell, was  induced  to  throw  open  the  doors  of  that 
institution  to  her,  and  to  give  her  the  opportunity  of 
acquiring  the  knowledge  requisite  for  the  prosecution 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  9 

of  her  art.  This  was,  at  that  time,  an  innovation,  and 
recognizing  this  fact,  Professor  McDowell,  with  in- 
tuitive delicacy,  offered  to  give  her,  each  morning,  in 
his  library,  an  abstract  of  the  lecture  prepared  for  his 
students,  with  the  opportunity  of  examining  each 
specimen  used  in  exempHfying  the  lesson  of  the  day. 
This  offer  the  young  enthusiast  eagerly  accepted,  and 
faithfully,  through  the  winter  months,  in  all  sorts  of 
weather,  she  plodded  daily,  on  foot,  several  miles  to 
the  college,  which  was  then  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
after  having  passed  the  previous  afternoon  and  evening 
in  preparation  for  the  day's  lecture.  When  the  term 
ended,  she  graduated  with  the  class  and  received  her 
diploma. 

After  the  conclusion  of  this  college  course,  she  de- 
termined, before  returning  to  her  Eastern  home,  to 
explore  a  little  the  South  and  the  "  Far  West,"  as 
that  region  was  then  called.  Accordingly,  accom- 
panied by  her  classmate,  she  started  down  the  river  to 
New  Orleans.  They  took  passage  on  the  "  Pacific" 
one  of  the  large  steamboats  plying  between  St.  Louis 
and  that  port.  But  the  "  Father  of  Waters,"  the 
mighty  Mississippi,  was  not  to  be  counted  upon. 
Owing  to  its  swift  current  and  its  soft  bed  of  sand 
and  clay,  it  changed  its  course  at  will,  moving  sud- 
denly from  side  to  side,  sometimes  overlajiping  its 
legitimate  borders  and  leaving  sand-bars  and  banks 
to-day  where  yesterday  deep  water  had  been.  Even 
old  and  experienced  pilots  Avere  not  able  always  to 
guide  their  water-craft  surely  and  speedily  on  the 
way.  It  was  here  that  Samuel  M.  Clemens  began  his 
career  as  a  pilot,  and  found  liis  more  familiar  title  of 


10  HARRIET  HOSMER 

"  Mark  Twain  ";  for  in  "  throwing  the  lead  "  to  meas- 
ure the  varying  depths  and  seek  safe  channels,  the 
negro  navigators  were  accustomed  to  sing  out  in  their 
peculiar  chant,  "Mark  Twain"  (twelve  feet),  or  any- 
other  number  called  for  by  the  scant  waters. 

When  the  travellers  had  been  a  day  or  so  on  board, 
the  boat  began,  after  the  usual  fashion,  "  to  ground  " 
every  few  hours  and  rest  indefinitely  upon  one  of  the 
above-mentioned  sand-bars.  Satisfied  with  a  week  of 
such  experience,  the  less  persistent  companion  gave  up 
the  trip,  and  returned  to  St.  Louis  on  a  passing  boat, 
while  her  more  determined  friend  pursued  her  onward 
way.  The  accompanying  letter  gives  a  further  account 
of  the  journey  down  the  stream,  a  portion  of  which 
was  then  well  called  "  the  graveyard  of  boats."  Before 
writing  this  letter,  she  had  been  obliged  to  transfer 
from  the  "  Pacific "  to  a  small  boat  going  only  to 
Cairo,  where  a  larger  one  was  taken  for  the  remainder 
of  the  journey: 

TO  MISS  C. 

On  Board  the  "  Whirlwind,"  Feb.  8,  1851. 
Dear  C: 

We  came  on  board  this  boat  last  Wednesday,  two 
days  after  you  left  us.  We  expect  to  reach  Cairo  this 
afternoon.  We  are  now  at  Cape  Girardeau,  the  lar- 
gest place  I  have  seen  on  the  river,  and  the  most  God- 
forsaken. We  passed  the  ''  Aleck  Scott,"  "  Di  Ver- 
non "  and  the  "  Lawrence  "  all  aground  at  St.  Gen- 
evieve, so  console  yourself  for  the  week  we  lost,  by 
thinking  there  were  others  in  the  same  plight.  We 
were  aground  not  five  minutes  after  we  started,  but 
we  got  off  during  the  night.  We  have  been  so  several 
times  since,  but  as  there  is  a  barge  alongside  to  take 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  11 

off  the  freight  in  such  cases,  the  delay  is  not  great. 
We  are  all  well  and  happy  enough,  though  tired  to 
death  with  being  on  any  kind  of  a  boat  so  long.  I  shall 
not  go  to  Galveston,  for  I  want  to  get  home  and  to 
studying;  have  finished  my  myology  book  and  am 
going  through  it  again.  Query,  will  New  Orleans 
pay  for  the  trouble?  .  .  .  Your  H 

This  letter  reveals  two  of  the  characteristics  which 
formed  the  basis  of  the  artist's  later  success:  patience 
and  persistence.  It  also  shows  the  uncertainties  of 
river  travel  in  the  West  during  those  early  days.  She 
eventually  reached  New  Orleans,  after  stopping  at 
Memphis  and  other  wayside  points  of  interest.  Here 
she  delighted  in  the  quaint  old  French  town,  and, 
after  a  short  stay,  returned  to  St.  Louis,  more  de- 
termined than  ever  to  see  the  Upper  Mississippi, 
famed  for  its  grand  and  picturesque  scenery.  After 
a  few  days  she  started  again,  on  one  of  the  so-called 
*'  floating  palaces,"  and  without  detention  went  as 
far  as  St.  Paul,  the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony,  and  the 
site  of  the  present  city  of  Minneapolis,  which  was  then 
non-existent.  The  high  bluffs  overlooking  the  river 
fascinated  her.  One  of  the  tallest  of  them  she  as- 
cended, and  thereafter  it  was  named  "  Mount  Hos- 
mer,"  in  her  honor.  The  limitless  prairies  beyond 
them,  the  Indian  encampments  along  shore,  where  she 
met  some  of  their  "  braves,"  and  smoked  with  them 
*'  the  Pipe  of  Peace,"  all  these  unfamihar  sights 
charmed   and  impressed  her. 

Upon  her  return  to  St.  Louis,  after  an  absence  from 
Watertown  of  nine  months,  she  went  home  prepared 
to  continue,  more  intelligently,  her  studies  in  model- 


12  HARRIET  HOSMER 

ling.  Her  first  work  was  one  of  grateful  acknowledg- 
ment to  her  distinguished  professor,  Dr.  McDowell. 
From  an  imperfect  cast  made  of  him  by  another 
pupil  (Clevenger)  she  modelled  a  portrait  medallion, 
wliich  she  put  into  marble  and  sent  to  him.  It  was 
also  at  this  time  that  she  made  a  copy  of  Canova's  bust 
of  Napoleon,  reducing  it  from  heroic  to  life  size.  This 
she  modelled,  cast,  cut  in  marble  unaided,  and  pre- 
sented to  her  father. 

Before  turning  from  this  period  of  the  artist's  life, 
a  letter,  though  of  much  later  date,  seems  in  place. 
The  Rev.  Mr.  Houghton,  who  in  1895  was  living  on 
the  side  of  Mount  Hosmer,  had  some  years  before 
written  tliis  account  of  it: 

Lansing^  Iowa,  1888. 

Near  this  place  is  the  highest  bluff  in  the  valley  of 
the  great  Mississippi.  It  has  an  elevation  of  five 
hundred  feet  and  is  named  Mount  Hosmer,  from  an 
old-time  association  with  Harriet  Hosmer,  the  world- 
renowned  sculptor.  The  affair  was  a  romantic  one 
and  imbued  with  the  individuality  of  the  artist.  Just 
after  completing  her  course  of  anatomy  under  Pro- 
fessor McDowell  in  St.  Louis,  she  traversed  the  Miss- 
issippi almost  from  its  source  to  its  mouth.  Miss 
Hosmer  was  then  a  gay,  romping,  athletic  schoolgirl. 
All  that  existed  of  our  beautiful  little  town  of  Lansing 
was  the  pine  wood  of  which  it  is  built,  then  in  process 
of  growth  in  the  virgin  forest.  During  her  ascent 
of  the  river,  as  the  steamboat  was  nearing  the  tall, 
precipitous  height,  several  young  men  of  the  party 
boasted  that  they  could  soon  reach  the  top,  and  said 
that  if  ladies  were  not  so  awkward  in  climbing,  they 
would  propose  a  match.  Miss  Hosmer  proffered  a 
wager  that  she  could  reach  the  summit  more  quickly 


li 


c4 

O 

K 

O 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  13 

than  any  of  them,  whereupon  the  captain  "  tied  up  " 
the  boat  and  they  went  on  shore.  The  race  was  made, 
and  INIiss  Hosmer  was  the  victor.  But  the  strange 
part  of  the  affair  is  this :  the  woman  who  is  now  known 
throughout  the  world  was  then  known  only  to  those 
whom  she  knew.  The  place  was  a  wilderness,  and  it 
was  years  afterwards,  and  she  in  a  foreign  country, 
that  her  beautiful  handiwork  began  to  command  praise 
and  admiration.  Will  not  Mount  Hosmer  be  a  lasting 
(and  fitting)  monument  to  her  name  and  fame? 

From  her  home  Miss  Hosmer  writes: 

TO  MISS  C. 

Dear  C:  Watertown^  July,   (1851). 

A  sense  of  stern  necessity  urged  me  to  rise  this 
morning  at  half  past  three  o'clock  and  break  my  back 
over  the  Dr.'s  medallion,*  which,  like  Christmas,  comes 
on  slowly  ...  I  have  been  reading  Pindar,  and  am 
over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  him  and  his  Olympics. 
Such  beautiful  pictures  as  he  draws!  It  is  like  walk- 
ing through  a  gallery  of  paintings.  And  I  have  been 
learning  much  of  the  "  In  Memoriam  "  and  have  lost 
my  wits  over  it.  I  think  the  "  sad  Hesper  "  one  of 
the  most  exquisite  poems,  containing  some  of  the  most 
beautiful  ideas  in  the  English  language.  I  have  been 
having,  too,  some  delightful  trots;  according  to  Uh- 
land,  I  can  have  a  ride  with  you,  and  often  do.  Do 
you  remember  his 

"  Take,  oh  boatman,  thrice  thy  fee 
Take,  I  give  it  willingly. 
For  invisible  to  thee, 
Spirits   twain  have   crossed  with   me." 

I  went  to  see  Mrs.  L.  M.  Child  (the  writer)  the 
other  night,  and  on  the  visit  there  hangs  a  tale.     My 

*  Professor  McDowell's. 


14  HARRIET  HOSMER 

father  went  in  the  chaise,  and  I  on  horseback;  coming 
home  I  lagged  behind  to  see  the  moon  and  stars  and 
to  have  a  good  think.  Well,  it  got  to  be  quite  dim, 
not  dark,  it  was  light  enough  to  see  everything  dis- 
tinctly, when  I  came  up  to  a  fence  with  a  very  long 
rail  resting  against  the  upper  bar  and  close  to  the 
entrance  of  the  field  where  the  bars  were  taken  down. 
My  attention  was  directed  particularly  to  the  rail, 
for  it  was  so  long  and  slender.  While  I  was  looking 
at  it,  it  raised  itself  from  the  fence  and  moved  around 
to  the  outside  of  the  post,  a  distance  of  several  yards, 
and  then  stood  upright.  Now  I  do  not  tell  this  as  a 
joke,  but  as  a  solemn  fact,  in  which  light  I  most 
religiously  view  it.  It  was  no  person,  nothing  but 
what  you  would  suppose  a  rail  of  goodly  length  and 
not  four  inches  in  diameter  to  be.  Make  what  you  can 
out  of  it.    I  have  thought  of  it  seriously.* 

Your  H. 

TO  MISS  C. 

j^        ^  ^  Watertown,  Nov.  1851. 

You  can't  imagine  how  delightful  are  the  musical 
rehearsals  in  Boston  every  Friday  afternoon — once  a 
week,  at  least,  I  am  raised  to  a  higher  humanity. 
There  is  something  in  fine  music  that  makes  one  feel 
nobler  and  certainly  happier.  Fridays  are  my  Sab- 
baths, really  my  days  of  rest,  for  I  go  first  to  the 
Athenseumf  and  fill  my  eyes  and  mind  with  beauty, 
then  to  Tremont  Temple  %  and  fill  my  ears  and  soul 
with  beauty  of  another  kind,  so  am  I  not  then  literally 
"  drunk  with  beauty  "  ? 

And  now  I  am  moved  to  say  a  word  in  favor  of 
sculpture  being  a  far  higher  art  than  painting.     There 

*  Miss  Hosmer  had  always  more  or  less  of  psychic  power,  and  later  was 
deeply  interested  in  the  work  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research  in  England. 
t  At  that  time  Boston's  only  Art  Gallery. 
X  The  only  Music  Hall. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  15 

is  something  in  the  purity  of  the  marble,  in  the  per- 
fect calmness,  if  one  may  say  so,  of  a  beautiful 
statue,  which  cannot  be  found  in  painting.  I  mean 
if  you  have  the  same  figure  copied  in  marble  and  also 
on  the  canvas.  People  talk  of  the  want  of  expres- 
sion in  marble,  when  it  is  capable  of  a  thousand  times 
more  than  canvas.  If  color  is  wanting,  you  have 
form,  and  there  is  dignity  with  its  rigidity.  One 
thing  is  certain,  that  it  requires  a  longer  practice  and 
truer  study,  to  be  able  to  appreciate  sculpture  as  well 
as  one  may  painting.  I  grant  that  the  painter  must 
be  as  scientific  as  the  sculptor,  and  in  general  must 
possess  a  greater  variety  of  knowledge,  and  what  he 
produces  is  more  easily  understood  by  the  mass,  be- 
cause what  they  see  on  canvas  is  most  frequently 
to  be  observed  in  nature.  In  high  sculpture  it  is 
not  so.  A  great  thought  must  be  embodied  in  a 
great  manner,  and  such  greatness  is  not  to  find  its 
counterpart  in  everyday  things.  That  is  the  reason 
why  JNIichael  Angelo  is  so  little  understood,  and  will 
account  for  a  remark  which  I  heard  a  lady  make,  a 
short  time  since,  that  "  she  wondered  they  had  those 
two  awful  looking  things  in  the  Athenaeum,  of 
'  Day '  and  '  Night ' ;  why  don't  they  take  them 
away  and  put  up  something  decent?"  Oh,  shades 
of  the  departed!  .  .  . 

Your  H. 

The  beginning  of  the  year  1852  was  given  to 
the  execution  of  the  artist's  first  ideal  work,  "  Hesper, 
the  Evening  Star,"  now  in  the  possession  of  her 
friend.  Dr.  Julian  Mead  of  Watertown.  Speaking 
of  this  bust,  JNIrs.  Lydia  Maria  Child,  said:  "This 
beautiful  production  has  the  face  of  a  lovely  maiden 
gently  falling  asleep  to  the  sound  of  distant  music. 
Her  hair  is  gracefully  intertwined  with  capsules  of 


16  HARRIET  HOSMER 

the  poppy.  A  polished  star  gleams  on  her  forehead, 
and  under  her  breast  lies  the  crescent  moon.  The  hush 
of  evening  breathes  from  the  serene  countenance  and 
the  heavily-drooping  eyelids.  The  mechanical  execu- 
tion of  the  bust  is  worthy  of  its  lovely  and  life-like 
expression.  The  swell  of  cheek  and  breast  is  like  pure, 
young,  healthy  flesh,  and  the  muscles  of  the  beautiful 
mouth  are  so  delicately  cut,  that  it  seems  like  a  thing 
that  breathes." 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Harriet  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Charlotte  Cushman,  the  distinguished  actress, 
who,  though  living  in  Rome,  had  returned  to  her 
native  city  to  fulfil  a  professional  engagement.  With 
her  ready  appreciation  of  art  in  all  its  forms,  she 
encouraged  the  earnest  young  sculptor  in  her  work, 
and  urged  her  to  carry  out  her  long  cherished  plan 
of  going  to  Rome  to  study  under  the  direction  of  a 
competent  master.  Her  representations  gave  weight 
to  the  young  girl's  wishes,  and  induced  Dr.  Hosmer 
to  consent  to  his  daughter's  going  abroad,  that  she 
might  obtain  the  much-craved  instruction. 

TO  MISS  C. 

j^        ^  Watertown^  January,  1852. 

I  am  really  going  to  Italy  in  the  autumn!  Miss 
Cushman  and  Miss  Hayes  will  be  there.  The  only 
thought  that  troubles  me  is,  that  I  fear  before  another 
twelve  months  have  passed,  Italy,  if  not  the  whole 
of  Europe,  will  be  plunged  in  war.  It  is  hardly  pos- 
sible that  such  universal  dissatisfaction  among  all 
classes,  as  prevails  now,  can  be  repressed,  or  the 
growing  disturbances  swept  away,  without  a  revolu- 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  17 

tion.  The  country  seems  ripe  for  a  revolt  now,  and 
with  all  my  disinclination  to  apprehend  consequences 
that  will  prevent  our  going  abroad,  I  must  own  that 
the  prospect  is  far  from  consoling;  nothing  would 
surprise  me  but  a  continuance  of  peace. 

Miss  Cushman  and  Miss  Hayes  (her  friend  and 
companion)  have  left  Boston,  and  I  can't  tell  you 
how  lonely  I  feel.  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  them  during 
the  three  weeks  that  they  were  in  the  city,  and  went 
constantly  to  the  theatre,  which  grows  upon  one  won- 
derfully. I  saw  Miss  Cushman  as  Lady  Macbeth, 
Queen  Katharine,  Romeo,  Claude  Melnotte,  La 
Tisbe,  Meg  Merrilies,  Hamlet,  and  in  a  comedy. 
You  have  no  idea  how  splendid  Hamlet  was.  I  used 
to  think  Lady  Macbeth  the  finest  thing  that  could  be 
done,  but  Queen  Katharine  shook  my  foundation  and 
Hamlet  overturned  it!  It  was  grand.  If  I  had  never 
had  an  opportunity  before  of  knowing  anything  about 
a  theatre,  I  have  had  now.  I  went  to  rehearsals  with 
Miss  Cushman,  behind  the  scenes  every  night,  into  the 
Scene  room,  the  Property  room,  the  Green  room,  and 
even  into  her  dressing  room,  and  hugely  enjoyed  it 
all.  Isn't  it  strange  how  we  meet  people  in  this  world 
and  become  attached  to  them  in  so  short  a  time?  Now 
I  feel  as  if  I  had  lost  my  best  friend.  .  .  . 

Your  H. 

After  this  Harriet's  time  was  devoted  to  prepara- 
tions for  going  abroad,  and  she  writes: 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  Watertown,  Aug.,  1852. 

Four  weeks  from  next  Wednesday  we  are  to  sail 
.  .  .  I  have  just  been  reading  a  book  from  which 
I  have  gained  a  clearer  idea  of  the  actual   state  of 


18  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Rome,  than  from  any  with  which  I  have  met,  I  mean 
with  regard  to  its  churches,  temples,  ruins,  streets,  and 
everything  therein,  and  am  prepared  to  be  neither 
amazed  at  their  grandeur,  nor  disappointed  in  their 
reahties.  I  verily  believe  I  can  see  St.  Peter's  before 
me  and  even  the  Apollo! 

Miss  Hayes  writes  us  melancholy  accounts  of  the 
state  of  affairs  in  Rome.  She  says  a  hubbub  is  ex- 
pected there  "  in  less  than  a  month."  But  the  beauty 
of  the  whole  consists  in  the  authority  she  quotes,  which 
is  that  of  Mazzini  himself.  Blind  with  enthusiasm 
as  he  is,  and  so  eager  for  the  moment  of  revolution 
to  arrive,  I  am  only  surprised  that  he  did  not  fix  the 
time  of  onset  in  a  fortnight  or  a  week.  He  bases 
his  whole  opinion  on  the  withdrawal  of  the  French 
troops,  forgetting  those  30,000  Austrians  who  are 
ready  to  take  their  place. 

I  am  earnestly  looking  forward  to  a  rest  on  board 
ship — to  tell  the  truth,  I  am  fagged  out  and  never 
again  will  allow  myself  to  be  so  yoked  to  my  work. 
In  Italy  it  wdll  not  be  necessary,  for  there  I  can  have 
workmen.     Hesper  is  now  exhibiting. 

I  have  a  letter  to  Ary  Scheffer  in  Paris.  Also  to 
several  Italian  artists. 

This  is  the  last  line  I  shall  pen  to  you  on  this  side 
of  the  Atlantic.  You  have  already  enjoyed  what  is 
before  me,  your  heart  and  mind  have  been  filled  with 
beauty  and  a  sense  of  infinity  by  the  glories  of  nature 
and  art,  but  I  feel  that  I  am  on  the  eve  of  a  new 
life,  that  the  earth  will  look  larger,  the  sky  brighter, 
and  the  world  in  general  more  grand  .  .  .  you  do  not 
know  how  thoroughly  dissatisfied  I  am  with  my  pres- 
ent mode  of  life.  I  ought  to  be  accomplishing  thrice 
as  much  as  now,  and  feel  that  I  am  soul-bound  and 
thought-bound  in  this  land  of  dollars  and  cents.  I 
take  it  there  is  inspiration  in  the  very  atmosphere  of 
Italy,  and  that  there,  one  intuitively  becomes  artistic 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  19 

in  thought.  Could  the  government  of  tliis  country  and 
its  glorious  privileges  be  united  with  the  splendors  of 
art  in  Italy,  that  union  would  produce  terrestrial  per- 
fection .  .  .  My  motto  is  going  to  be,  "  Live  well, 
do  well,  and  all  will  be  well." 

Yours,  H. 

This  touching  letter  from  her  old  professor  came 
to  the  artist  before  she  sailed,  to  acknowledge  her 
gift  of  the  medallion: 

Dear  Hatty:         _  ^T.  Louis,  October,  1852. 

I  have  called  this  evening  on  our  mutual  friend  J. 
to  refresh  myself  with  a  sight  of  a  living  human  body, 
having  run  off  from  the  dead  ones  hoping  to  r^-count 
with  her,  many  of  the  pleasant  hours  I  spent  with 
you  in  the  college  and  where  there  is  a  great  vacuity 
since  you  left.  The  bench  j^ou  sat  upon  has  never 
been  filled  since  you  were  there.  I  often  turn  to  the 
spot  and  think  I  can  see  the  little  Quaker  girl  in 
the  brown  sacque  and  close-fitting  bonnet,  and  an 
eye  that  beamed  with  pleasure  at  the  exhibition  of 
Nature  and  Nature's  work.  J.  is  sitting  beside  me, 
holding  one  end  of  the  portfolio  while  I  write,  and 
laughing  at  me  for  being  so  old  and  so  sentimental. 
Dear  Hat,  I  like,  not  love  you,  for  my  poor  old  heart, 
that  has  so  often  been  chilled  by  the  winters  of  ad- 
versity, cannot  now  love,  but  could  I  love  any  one, 
it  would  be  the  child  who  has  so  remembered  me  as 
to  send  me  an  undeserved  monument  *  of  esteem,  as 
you  have  done. 

And  now  let  me  say  to  you,  that  the  time  may 
come  when  you  may  feel  that  others  should  be  grate- 
ful ;  if  so,  let  your  eyes  turn  on  that  lean  and  hungry- 
looking   friend  who,   as   days   increase,   will   have   his 

*The  marble  portrait  of  Dr.  McDowell. 


20  HARRIET  HOSMER 

regard  for  you  increase.  We  do  not  know  the  value 
of  friends  until  we  have  lost  them.  It  were  best 
sometimes  never  to  have  known  them,  but,  Hattie,  I 
shall  never  consider  you  lost  to  me,  unless  you  shall 
prove  that  you  have  forgotten  me.  You  no  doubt 
have  thought  me  unfeeling,  that  I  have  not  written, 
but  I  shall  see  you  and  tell  you  all;  until  then,  be- 
lieve my  feelings  for  you  are,  as  ever,  pure  as  Nature 
and  as  enduring.  Hattie,  I  have  covered  the  marble 
you  sent  me,  in  white  crepe,  not  to  mourn  for  the 
loss  of  a  friend,  but  for  the  absence  of  the  one  who 
wrought  it  and  to  preserve  it  as  pure  as  the  one  who 
gave  it  to  me.  Long  may  you  live,  my  child,  long 
may  you  be  comforted  in  this  cold  world  by  friends; 
and  believe  me  ever  yours, 

J.  N.  McDowell. 


CHAPTER  II 

1852-1854 

In  the  autumn  Harriet  and  her  father  sailed  for 
England,  taking  with  them  Dr.  McDowell's  certifi- 
cate of  her  proficiency  in  anatomy,  and  two  daguerreo- 
types of  Hesper,  which  was,  thus  far,  her  only  original 
work.  They  made  but  a  short  stop  in  England, 
where  she  had  the  great  pleasure  of  seeing  again  Mrs. 
Kemble,  who  had  then  returned  to  live  in  England, 
following  her  separation  from  Pierce  Butler  of  Phila- 
delphia.    They  reached   Rome   in  November. 

Immediately  upon  their  arrival  they  sought  out 
John  Gibson,*  England's  foremost  sculptor,  and  though 
it  was  not  his  custom  to  take  pupils,  after  an  inter- 
view with  the  young  girl  and  an  examination  of  the 
pictures  of  Hesper,  he  was  so  impressed  with  her 
ability  and  earnestness  that  he  consented  to  receive 
her  into  his  studio,  sajdng,  "  Whatever  I  can  teach 
her,  she  shall  learn."  Faithful  was  he  to  his  word, 
proving  no  less  a  kind  friend  than  a  wise  master. 
Her  father  accompanied  her  to  Gibson's  studio,  which 
was  in  the  Via  Fontanella  and  consisted  of  a  series 
of  rooms,  in  one  of  which  Canova  had  worked.  This 
was  assigned  to  the  young  girl.  To  reach  it,  after 
passing  through  a  gallery  filled  with  Gibson's  own 
works  and  crossing  a  garden  bright  with  flowers  and 

*  Pupil  of  Canova  and  of  Thorwaldsen. 

21 


22  HARRIET  HOSMER 

ferns,  one  ascended  a  flight  of  steps  to  a  small  work- 
room lighted  by  an  arched  window.  Here  she  was 
left  to  her  life-work,  by  her  father,  his  only  stipulation 
being  that  she  should  continue,  as  far  as  possible, 
her  out-of-door  exercise;  and  here  she  remained  for 
seven  years.  Of  her  happiness  at  this  period,  a  por- 
tion of  a  letter  to  her  friend  gives  record: 

"  The  dearest  wish  of  my  heart  is  gratified,  in  that 
I  am  acknowledged  by  Gibson  as  a  pupil.  He  has 
been  resident  in  Rome  for  thirty-four  years,  and 
leads  the  van.  I  am  greatly  in  luck.  He  has  just 
finished  the  model  for  his  statue  of  the  Queen  *  and 
as  his  modelling  room  is  now  vacant,  he  permits  me 
to  use  it,  so  that  I  am,  as  it  were,  in  liis  own  studio. 
I  have  also  a  small  room  for  work,  which  was  formerly 
occupied  by  Canova,  and  perhaps  inspiration  may  be 
drawn  from  its  walls." 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

KoME,  Dec.  1,  1852. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

Can  you  believe  that  this  is  indeed  Rome,  and 
more  than  all  that  I  am  in  it?  I  wrote  you  from 
Liverpool,  and  after  that  delayed  sending  you  any 
w^ord  till  I  could  say  I  was  in  this  delightful  place 
which  I  now  consider  my  home.  I  will  say  nothing 
of  Italy  or  of  what  you  already  know,  but  tell  you 
at  once  of  the  arrangements  I  have  made  for  the 
present  in  the  way  of  art.  Of  course  you  know  that 
Mr.  Gibson,  the  English  sculptor,  is  the  acknowledged 
head  of  artists  here.  He  is  my  master,  and  I  love  him 
more  every  day.  I  work  under  his  very  eye,  and 
nothing  could  be  better  for  me  in  every  way.     He 

*  Queen  Victoria. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  ^3 

gives  me  engravings,  books,  casts,  everything  he 
thinks  necessary  for  my  studies,  and  in  so  kindly,  so 
fatherly  a  manner  that  I  am  convinced  Heaven 
smiled  most  benignantly  upon  me  when  it  sent  me 
to  him. 

I  saw  Mr.  Terry  last  night.  There  was  quite  an 
assembly  of  artists,  Mr.  Gibson,  Crawford,  Mosier, 
Spence,  and  others  ...  I  was  a  little  disappointed 
in  Rome  when  I  first  came,  but  now  I  feel  how  beau- 
tiful and  grand  the  city  is,  and  already  look  upon  it 
with  loving  eyes.  We  are  a  jolly  party  in  ourselves. 
Miss  Cushman,  Miss  Hayes,  Miss  Smith  (an  English 
lady),  Grace  Greenwood,  Dr.  Hosmer,  and  myself. 
I  am  away  all  day,  but  try  to  make  up  for  that  at 
other  hours,  and  doubly  enjoy  myself.  We  see  Mrs. 
Sartoris  *  frequently,  and  already  I  love  her  dearly. 
She  is  very  like  Mrs.  Kemble,  who,  by  the  way,  is  to 
be  here  in  Januar5^  She  (Mrs.  Kemble)  went  with 
us  in  London  to  the  British  IMuseum  and  various 
other  places. 

Remember  me  to  the  beloved  old  professor,t  whose 
instructions  I  value  more  highly  every  day,  as  I  see 
how  invaluable  they  are. 

Yours,  H. 


Being  thus  fortunately  placed,  Harriet  began 
her  work  by  devoting  herself  to  the  study  of  ancient 
art,  and  by  copying  some  of  its  masterj)ieces.  The 
Venus  of  Milo,  the  Cupid  of  Praxiteles,  and  the 
Tasso  of  the  British  Museum  were  among  the  first 
of  her  enchanted  labors.  Next  she  essayed  an  ideal 
bust  of  Daphne,  one  copy  of  which  she  sent  to  Mr. 
Crow  and  one  was  ordered  by  Mrs.  Samuel  Apple- 
ton  of  Boston.     To  this  bust  succeeded  its  companion 

*  Adelaide,  sister  of  Fanny  Kemble.  f  Dr.  McDowell. 


24  HARRIET  HOSMER 

piece,  the  lovely  and  touching  Medusa,  the  only  one 
of  the  Gorgons  subject  to  death,  and  reputed  to  be 
very  beautiful.  In  this  the  hair  retreating  in  waves 
from  the  forehead  changes  into  serpents.  It  has  been 
described  as  "  faultless  in  form,  while  intense  in  its 
expression  of  grief  and  agony  at  the  transformation, 
although  it  leaves  her  beautiful,  still."  This,  too,  was 
ordered  by  Mrs.  Appleton.  Of  these  two  works  her 
master  said,  "  They  do  her  great  honor."  In  them 
she  proved  her  ability  to  portray  the  roundness  of 
flesh,  of  which  Gibson  further  said,  that  he  "  had 
never  seen  it  surpassed  and  seldom  equalled."  One 
copy  of  the  Medusa  was  ordered  by  Lady  Marian 
Alford,  and  another  by  the  Duchess  of  St.  Albans, 
both  of  England. 

The  next  year  Mr.  Gibson  wrote  to  Dr.  Hosmer: 
"  Your  daughter's  industry  continues  unabated,  and 
she  makes  progress  in  her  profession,  for  her  last 
model  is  her  best.  It  is  really  a  fine  work  and  would 
do  credit  to  many  a  sculptor  in  Rome.  We  have 
here  now,  the  greatest  sculptor  of  the  age.  Ranch  of 
Berlin,*  seventy-seven  years  of  age.  He  came  to  my 
studio  and  staid  a  considerable  time.  Your  daughter 
was  absent,  but  I  showed  him  all  she  had  done,  in- 
cluding a  small  sketch-model  for  a  statue  life  size. 
Ranch  was  much  struck  and  pleased  with  her  works, 
and  expressed  his  opinion  that  she  would  become  a 
clever  sculptor.     He  inquired  her  age,  and  wrote  her 

*  Christian  Rauch,  the  intimate  friend  of  Alexander  von  Humboldt.  Among 
his  noted  works  are  the  statue  of  Frederick  the  Great  in  Berlin,  those  of  the 
Queen  at  Charlottenburg.  and  at  Potsdam;  also  the  statues  of  von  Blilcher  and 
von  Billow,  with  their  bassi-relievi,  in  the  great  square  of  Berlin,  and  the  four 
winged  Victories  belonging  to  the  King  of  Bavaria. 


^^^^^^^^^^^^H 

■ 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^B; 

I 

MEDUSA 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  25 

name  in  his  pocket-book.  So  now  you  have  the  opin- 
ion of  the  greatest  living  sculptor  concerning  your 
daughter's  merit." 

Miss  Hosmer  now  received  her  first  large  order. 
It  was  from  Mr.  Crow  for  a  Statue  and  she  writes 
to  him: 

r,  nr      ry  RoME^  April   10,   1853. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  ^  ' 

Had  it  not  been  for  my  God-like  faith  in  human 
nature  and  for  my  very  natural  supposition  that  others 
were  as  busy  as  myself,  I  should  have  begun  to  fear 
that  you  had  forgotten  H.  H.  And  now,  how  can 
I  thank  you  for  your  letter?  I  must  thank  you  for 
many  things  therein  expressed  or  understood,  for 
your  kindness  and  your  interest  in  me,  for  the  con- 
fidence you  have  shown  in  my  future,  and  for  your 
leading  me  so  quickly  out  of  the  apronstrings  of  art, 
and  in  reality  for  "  setting  me  up  "  as  an  artist. 

When  an  artist  has  received  the  first  order,  and 
such  an  order,  he  considers  liimself  (or  herself)  placed, 
at  least,  on  one  artistic  leg.  As  Mr.  Gibson  remarked, 
there  are  very  few  who  can  say  the  first  benefit  con- 
ferred on  them  was  of  such  a  princely  nature.  But 
now,  my  dear  sir,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  it  will  be  some 
time  before  I  can  make  anything  which  I  should  feel 
that  I  could  send  you  as  compensation,  either  in  jus- 
tice to  yourself  or  as  worthy  of  myself.  Therefore 
for  the  present  I  shall  derive  no  other  good  from 
your  generosity  than  that  which  will  arise  from  the 
possession  of  this  "  artistic  leg,"  of  which  I  speak,  but 
which,  I  assure  you,  is  a  great  thing.  When  I  told 
Mr.  Gibson  the  news,  he  said,  "  Brava,  Brava,  more 
splendid  encouragement  nobody  ever  received " ; 
which  is  indeed  true.  And  when  I  told  Mrs.  Kemble, 
she  wouldn't  believe  it.  I  have  received  many  con- 
gratulations on  the  strength  of  it,  and  every  day  feel 


26  HARRIET  HOSMER 

more  and  more  that  I  must  strive  to  deserve  the  con- 
fidence you  feel  in  me,  and  that  by  faithful  study  and 
devoted  labor  I  must  justify  the  interest  exi)ressed  by 
my  many  friends. 

Although,  as  I  said,  it  will  be  some  time  before  I 
shall  be  able  to  make  a  satisfactory  statue,  yet  the 
first  one  I  do  make,  of  which  Mr.  Gibson  approves, 
is  yours.  But  though  you  will  not  at  present  see  a 
statue,  you  will  soon  see  a  bust  of  my  handiwork,  for 
I  am  now  engaged  on  one  which  was  destined  for 
you,  from  the  beginning;  that  is,  from  the  time  Mr. 
Gibson  told  me  I  must  put  it  into  marble.  I  send 
it  to  you  purely  as  a  love  gift,  as  a  love  offering  to 
the  whole  family,  and  as  a  very  slight  return  for  the 
many  kindnesses  I  received  when  I  was  with  you. 
Her  name  is  Daphne,  and  she  is  represented  as  just 
sinking  away  into  the  laurel  leaves.  It  will  not  be 
with  you  before  the  winter,  as  I  want  to  keep  it  in 
the  studio  a  little  while  after  it  is  finished.  It  is  a 
great  pleasure  to  me,  as  I  work,  to  think  where  it  is 
going,  and  that  it  will  be  before  the  eyes  of  those 
whom  I  love,  and  that  they  will  have  my  first  work 
sent  from  Italy. 

Mrs.  Kemble  is  here,  or  rather  was,  she  has  left 
here  now,  with  her  sister,  Mrs.  Sartoris,  for  Sorrento 
where  they  are  to  spend  the  summer  and  I  am  going 
there  also.  Still  better,  they  are  both  to  be  in  Rome 
next  winter. 

Yours,  H. 

TO  MISS  C. 

Rome,  April  22,  1853. 
Dear  C: 

I  have  not  the  least  idea  that  I  shall  see  America 
for  five  years  at  the  inside.  I  have  determined  that, 
unless  recalled  by  accident,  I  will  stay  until  I  shall  have 
accomplished  certain  things,  be  that  time,  three,  five, 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  S7 

or  ten  years.  My  father  will  make  me  a  visit  in  about 
three  years,  I  suspect,  or  when  he  wants  very  much 
to  see  me,  and  then  it  will  be  my  turn  to  visit  him. 
As  by  that  time  you  might  forget  how  I  look,  I  have 
caused  to  be  taken  a  Daguerre  of  myself  in  daily 
costume,  also  one  for  the  Pater.  They  are,  like  Gil- 
pin's hat  and  wig,  "  upon  the  way." 

You  ask  me  what  I  am  doing,  and  in  reply  I  can 
say  I  am  as  busy  as  a  hornet.  First,  I  am  working 
on  your  Daphne,  and  then  making  some  designs  for 
bassi-relievi.  I  reign  like  a  queen  in  my  little  room  in 
Mr.  Gibson's  studio,  and  I  love  my  master  dearly. 
He  is  as  kind  to  me  as  it  is  possible  for  you  to 
imagine,  and  he  is,  after  Ranch,  the  first  sculptor  of 
the  age. 

Don't  ask  me  if  I  was  ever  happy  before,  don't  ask 
me  if  I  am  happy  now,  but  ask  me  if  my  constant 
state  of  mind  is  felicitous,  beatific,  and  I  will  reply 
"  Yes."  It  never  entered  into  my  head  that  any- 
body could  be  so  content  on  this  earth,  as  I  am  here. 
I  wouldn't  live  anywhere  else  but  in  Rome,  if  you 
would  give  me  the  Gates  of  Paradise  and  all  the 
Apostles  thrown  in.  I  can  learn  more  and  do  more 
here,  in  one  year,  than  I  could  in  America  in  ten. 
America  is  a  grand  and  glorious  country  in  some 
respects,  but  this  is  a  better  place  for  an  artist. 

I  am  looking  forward  to  our  summer  in  Sorrento, 
for  they  say  it  is  the  loveliest  spot  on  earth.  .  .  . 

Your  H. 

Later,  Mrs.  Kemble  to  Mr.  Crow :  * 

Rome,  Oct.  8,   1853. 
My  dear  Mr.  Crow: 

I  am  once  more  in  Rome,  whither  I  returned  after 
spending  the  summer  in  the  neighborhood  of  Naples. 
Harriet   Hosmer  was  our  near  neighbor   during  the 

♦  An  old  friend  of  hers. 


28  HARRIET  HOSMER 

whole  summer,  and  I  hope  and  expect  to  see  much  of 
her  while  I  remain  in  Rome.  As  you  may  suppose, 
I  am  deeply  interested  in  Hatty's  career,  and  rejoice 
extremely  in  your  most  liberal  encouragement  of 
your  young  countrywoman's  genius.  I  think  she  will 
distinguish  herself  greatly,  for  she  not  only  is 
gifted  with  an  unusual  artistic  capacity,  but  she  has 
energy,  perseverance,  and  industry;  attributes  often 
wanting  Avhere  genius  exists,  and  extremely  seldom 
possessed  or  exercised  in  any  effectual  manner  by 
women.  She  is  an  object  of  great  interest  to  me, 
and,  as  a  friend  of  my  daughter  Sarah,  very  dear  to 
me.  Hatty's  peculiarities  will  stand  in  the  way  of 
her  success  with  people  of  society  and  the  world,  and 
I  wish  for  her  own  sake  that  some  of  them  were  less 
decided  and  singular,*  but  it  is  i)erhaps  unreasonable 
to  expect  a  person  to  be  singular  in  their  gifts  and 
graces  alone,  and  not  to  be  equally  unlike  people  in 
other  matters. 

Your  native,  and  my  half-adopted  country, 
America,  distinguishes  itself  in  the  artists  it  sends  to 
Europe.  We  have  here  a  Mr.  Page,  a  painter  from 
Massachusetts,  whose  portraits  are  among  the  best 
modern  pictures  I  have  ever  seen.  .  .  . 

Yours  sincerely, 

Fanny  Kemble. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  next  year  Miss  Hosmer 
learned  that  her  father  had  met  with  serious  reverses 
of  fortune,  and  thus  wrote  to  Mr.  Crow: 

Rome,  Jan.  9,  1854. 

I  received  three  days  since  your  kind  letter,  my 
dear  Mr.  Crow,  and  wish  that  I  might  be  able  to 
respond  to  it  in  exactly  the  spirit  it  deserves.    Words 

♦  Referring  to  Miss  Hosmer's  utter  disregard  of  fashion  and  conventionalities. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  29 

are  but  poor  vehicles  of  expression,  and  the  heart  is 
often  more  full  and  warm  than  it  can  tell.  When  I 
wrote  you,  refusing  to  avail  myself  at  once  of  your 
proffered  kindness,  I  had  little  ground  for  anticipating 
any  storms  of  fortmie,  as  hitherto  my  heaven  of 
prosperity  has  seemed  cloudless;  but  it  is  well  for  us 
to  experience  a  few  kicks  and  cuffs  in  this  world,  else 
we  might  too  readily  believe  ourselves  the  loved  of 
Heaven,  when  in  fact  I  suppose  we  are  great  sinners. 
My  father  has  made  known  to  you  liis  ill  fortune, 
and  had  he  made  it  known  to  me  at  an  earlier  period, 
I  certainly  should  have  sooner  adopted  the  course  I 
mean  to  pursue,  viz:  that  of  supporting  myself.  It 
now  becomes  my  duty,  as  it  is  my  pleasure,  to  relieve 
him  of  all  expenses  incurred  by  myself.  On  your 
goodness,  then,  my  more  than  friend,  I  am  forced  to 
rely,  and  to  accept  the  offer  you  have  so  generously 
made  me.  With  such  a  start  in  the  world,  I  tliink, 
nay,  I  am  sure,  I  can  make  my  own  way,  and  per- 
haps the  time  may  come  when  I  can  prove  more 
sensibly  than  by  words,  that  I  am  not  unmindful 
of  the  obligations  which  I  owe  you.  I  am  getting  to 
know  a  little  more  of  the  world  than  I  did  once,  and 
if  I  have  gained  this  knowledge  by  costly  experience, 
there  is  one  comfort  in  thinking  that  it  will  never  have 
to  be  paid  for  again. 

As  to  my  horse,  I  would  gladly  dispose  of  it,  if  I 
could.  But  the  confinement  of  the  studio  during  the 
greater  part  of  the  daj^  makes  it  absolutely  necessary 
for  me  to  take  some  active  exercise  after  my  work  is 
over.  If  Rome  were  Florence,  one  could  walk,  but 
you  have  seen  enough  of  it  to  know  what  walks  it 
offers,  and  the  pure,  fresh  air  is  only  to  be  found 
beyond  the  walls. 

Now,  dear  Mr.  Crow,  in  regard  to  your  statue,  by 
the  time  you  receive  this,  1  shall  have  begun  the 
model.     Next  winter  I  shall  hope  to  produce  some- 


30  HARRIET  HOSMER 

thing  to  meet  your  approbation.  I  will  indeed  "  take 
my  time  "  about  it,  for  I  am  ambitious  of  doing  it 
well.  Daphne  will  be  with  you  before  very  long. 
Now  if  you  hear  of  anybody  who  wants  an  equestrian 
statue  ninety  feet  high,  or  a  monument  in  memory  of 
some  dozen  departed  heroes,  please  remember  that 
man-like  I  am  ready  for  orders.  However,  to  be 
moderate  and  in  earnest,  I  mean  that  if  anybody 
wants  any  small,  decent-sized  thing,  I  should  be  de- 
lighted to  furnish  it.  .  .  .  Almost  all  artists  have, 
and  have  had,  a  kind  patron,  and  I  am  sure  I  may 
dub  you  mine.  .  .  . 

Affectionately  yours, 

H.  G.  HoSMER. 

A  little  later  Miss  Hosmer  received,  through  Mr. 
Crow,  from  a  friend  of  his  (Mr.  V.),  a  commission 
for  a  statue,  to  be  placed  in  the  hall  of  the  Mercantile 
Library  in  St.  Louis,  and  she  says: 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  ^°^'^'  M'^'"-  ^'  ^^S*- 

With  this  I  send  an  answer  to  Mr.  V's  most  kind 
letter.  I  am  grateful  to  him  for  his  goodness  and 
twice  grateful  to  the  prime  mover,  yourself.  Indeed, 
I  don't  know  how  I  shall  ever  express  to  you  what 
I  feel  for  all  your  fatherly  care  of  me,  but  this  is 
most  certain,  that  if  I  ever  make  anything  of  an  artist, 
it  will  be  owing  to  you,  for  without  your  most  liberal 
assistance  I  should  be  unable  to  pursue  my  studies 
in  Rome.  I  have  a  good  friend  here,  too,  in  Mr. 
Gibson,  who  seems  to  interest  himself  in  my  progress, 
and  wishes,  to  use  his  own  words,  "  to  teach  me  all 
he  knows  himself."  I  am  more  and  more  delighted 
with  the  path  I  have  chosen,  and  daily  am  more 
firmly  resolved  to  realize  the  hopes  of  my  friends.     I 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  31 

am  as  busy  as  I  can  be,  but  there  is  so  much  to  be 
learned,  that  I  seem  to  travel  over  the  ground  slowly, 
however,  as  the  Italians  say,  Patienza! 

I  am  afraid  I  did  something  very  unbusinesslike 
when  I  drew  upon  you  without  notifying  you  pre- 
viously. 

The  sum,  contrary  to  the  course  hitherto  pursued, 
is  to  last  me  for  one  year;  if  it  does  not,  I  will  lay 
my  head  with  the  foxes  who  have  nests  and  the  birds 
of  the  air  who  have  holes,  or  vice  versa.  I  am  about 
to  part  with  my  "  gallant  gray,"  for  several  reasons, 
one  of  which  is  that  he  has  very  nearly  broken  my 
skull  by  quickly  elevating  me  over  his  own.  .  .  . 

Ever  gratefully, 

XX.     G.     XX. 

This  year  Miss  Hosmer's  friend  (Miss  C.)  mar- 
ried and  for  a  time  went  to  live  among  the  Western 
prairies;  she  writes: 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 

jy       ^  RoME^  Apr.  22,  1854. 

.  .  .  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  to  me  about 
becoming  so  fond  of  Italy  that  I  should  never  want 
to  go  home  to  live?  Oh!  thy  prophetic  soul,  it  is  even 
so!  Here  am  I  as  merry  as  a  cricket  and  as  happy 
as  a  clani,  finding  the  nights  nothing  and  the  days 
shorter.  Never  have  eighteen  months  gone  by  so 
swiftly  and  happily,  since  I  was  born.  I  suppose 
it  is,  as  Mr.  Gibson  says,  because  I  have  been  always 
occupied;  but  there  is  something  in  the  air  of  Italy, 
setting  aside  other  things,  which  would  make  one 
feel  at  home  in  Purgatory  itself.  In  America  I 
never  had  that  sense  of  quiet,  settled  content  such  as 
I  now  have  from  sunrise  to  sunset.  .  .  . 


32  HARRIET  HOSMER 

There  is  the  most  charming  circle  of  people  here 
that  you  can  imagine.  Among  them  Mrs.  Kemble 
and  Mrs.  Sartoris.  Knowing  these  two,  you  will  be 
able  to  judge  how  much  they  must  contribute  to 
anj^body's  happiness.  They  are  like  two  mothers  to 
me,  and  their  house  seems  home  all  over.  Then  the 
Brownings  are  here,  both  so  delightful,  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing a  perfect  darling,  and  every  Sunday  and  Wednes- 
day evening  there  is  a  friendly  party,  as  she  calls  it, 
at  Mrs.  Sartoris',  consisting  of  Mrs.  Kemble  and  the 
Brownings,  two  young  artists  *  and  your  humble 
servant.  Mrs.  Sartoris  sings  and  Mrs.  Kemble  some- 
times reads,  and  all  in  all,  it  is  the  perfection  of 
everything  that  is  charming.  The  Thackerays,  too, 
have  been  here,  and  they  are  such  dear  girls.  Every 
now  and  then  there  is  an  excursion  projected  for  the 
Campagna,  consisting  of  these  same  persons,  and  we 
go  out  for  the  day  picnicking;  thus  I  mingle  amuse- 
ment with  stud}^  and  frolic  with  labor.  Can  you  see 
how  days  could  pass  more  rationally  or  agreeably? 

I  wish  you  could  walk  into  my  cosey  little  room 
in  the  studio,  where  all  my  days  are  spent,  with  the 
exception  of  the  picnics.  Just  now  I  am  modelling 
a  portrait  bust  of  a  famous  New  York  beauty,  and 
after  that  shall  begin  a  little  figure,  half-size,  to  be 
made  into  a  full  length  statue  next  winter,  which  is 
to  form  part  of  your  family  one  of  these  days.  All 
thanks  now  and  forever  to  the  good  Pater,  for  having 
given  me  such  a  professional  lift  and  laid  the  founda- 
tion of  my  good  fortune.  Now  that  I  am  supporting 
myself  I  feel  so  frightfully  womanly  that  I  cannot 
describe  my  venerable  sensations,  nor  could  you 
"  realize  "  them,  any  more  than  dear  Miss  Elizabeth 
Peabody  did  the  tree  at  Lenox,  when  she  walked  into 
it,  and  upon  being  asked  about  it,  said,  "  Yes,  I  saw 
it,    but   I   did   not    realize   it."      Do   you   remember? 

*  One  of  them  was  Frederick  Leighton. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  33 

There  is  a  deal  to  be  learned,  before  one  is  able  to 
see  through  the  millstone  of  the  world.  .  .  . 

I  want  you  so  much  to  receive  my  first  child 
(Daphne).  I  dare  say  you  are  tired  of  hearing  about 
her  and  never  seeing  her,  but  the  fact  is,  her  little 
face  was  not  quite  clear,  wanted  a  draught  of  Sarsa- 
parilla  to  purify  it,  and  so,  as  I  desired  of  all  people 
in  the  world  that  you  and  yours  should  have  a  for- 
tunate fac-simile  of  her,  I  ordered  another  one  to  be 
cut,  and  as  it  is  not  a  trifling  job  of  a  week  or  so,  I 
have  been  prevented  from  despatching  her  until  now; 
but  the  workmen  assure  me  it  will  be  finished  shortly, 
when,  presto!  it  shall  go  to  be  kissed,  and  I  hope, 
loved,  by  you  all.  At  the  same  time  I  shall  send 
another  daughter  *  to  Boston,  which  you  must  make 
a  point  of  visiting  this  summer. 

Your   H. 

Of  these  Campagna  parties  Mrs.  Browning  speaks 
in  one  of  her  letters,!  and  of  Mrs.  Kemble  and  Mrs. 
Sartoris,  saying: 

"  Certainly  they  have  given  us  some  exquisite 
hours  on  the  Campagna,  upon  picnic  excursions  with 
certain  of  their  friends.  Ampere,  who  is  witty  and 
agreeable,  Lyons,  etc.  Their  talk  was  almost  too 
brilliant  for  the  sentiment  of  the  scenery.  I  should 
mention,  too.  Miss  Hosmer  (but  she  is  better  than  a 
talker),  the  young  American  sculptress,  who  is  a 
great  pet  of  mine  and  of  Robert's,  and  who  emanci- 
pates the  eccentric  life  of  a  perfectly  '  emancipated 
female  '  from  all  shadow  of  blame,  by  the  purity  of 
hers.  She  lives  here  all  alone  (at  twenty-two),  works 
from  six  o'clock  in  the  moniing  till  night,  as  a  great 

*  The  Medusa. 

f  Letters  of  Mrs.  Browning,  by  Fred  G.  Kenyon,  Vol.  II,  page  166. 


34.  HARRIET  HOSMER 

artist  must,  and  this  with  an  absence  of  pretension, 
and  simpHcity  of  manners,  which  accord  rather  with 
the  childish  dimples  in  her  rosy  cheeks,  than  with  her 
broad  forehead  and  liigh  aims." 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

RoME^  June   17,   1854. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow. 

Two  days  ago  I  received  your  good  letter  with  one 
from  Mr.  V.  I  suspect  you  inspired  the  latter,  but 
time  will  prove  all  things.  Meanwhile  I  can  truly 
say,  I  wish  I  were  more  worthy  of  all  the  kindness 
bestowed  upon  me.  Certainly  one  must  have  great 
patience  in  matters  of  art,  it  is  so  very  difficult,  and 
excellence  in  it  is  only  the  result  of  long  time.  One 
must  have  perfect  command  over  the  clay  to  make 
it  express  what  one  desires,  and  the  fingers  work  but 
slowly,  however  energetic  the  brain  may  be.  Oh, 
if  one  knew  but  one-half  the  difficulties  an  artist 
has  to  surmount,  the  amount  of  different  kinds  of 
study  necessary,  before  he  can  see  the  path  even 
beginning  to  open  before  him,  the  public  would  be 
less  ready  to  censure  him  for  his  shortcomings  or  slow 
advancement.  The  only  remedy  I  know  is  patience 
with  perseverance,  and  these  are  always  sure,  with  a 
real  honest  love  for  art,  to  produce  something. 

How  delightful,  if  you  would  put  into  execution 
that  plan  of  coming  to  Italy!  I  should  take  the 
privilege  of  an  old  Roman,  not  to  say  an  old  friend, 
and  show  up  everything,  in  which  I  should  try  to 
make  the  galleries,  churches,  and  ruins  play  a  sub- 
ordinate part,  and  my  gratitude  for  all  your  tender 
mercies   the   principal   feature   therein.  .  .  . 

They  are  advancing  now  with  the  war.*  It  seems 
as  far  from  us  as  from  you,  and  when  the  feat  of 

*  In  the  Crimea, 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  35 

taking  Sebastopol  is  really  performed,  I  don't  know 
what  they  will  talk  about.  I  suppose  there  is  no 
danger  of  America  taking  any  part;  there  was  a 
report  that  she  did  intend  it,  but  would  take  the 
wrong  side! 

Yours,  H. 
TO  THE  SAME. 

RoME^  Aug.,  1854. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

I  have  your  letter  of  June  13th.  I  have  been  fancy- 
ing you  all  in  Lenox,  and  see  that  I  was  not  wrong. 

By  this  time  Bessie  S.  is  Mrs.  R.  You  see,  eveiy- 
body  is  being  married  but  myself.  I  am  the  only 
faithful  worshipper  of  Celibacy,  and  her  service  be- 
comes more  fascinating  the  longer  I  remain  in  it. 
Even  if  so  inclined,  an  artist  has  no  business  to 
marry.  For  a  man,  it  may  be  well  enough,  but  for 
a  woman,  on  whom  matrimonial  duties  and  cares 
weigh  more  heavily,  it  is  a  moral  wrong,  I  think,  for 
she  must  either  neglect  her  profession  or  her  family, 
becoming  neither  a  good  wife  and  mother  nor  a  good 
artist.  My  ambition  is  to  become  the  latter,  so  I 
wage  eternal  feud  with  the  consolidating  knot. 

My  father,  I  hear,  is  very  well.  As  you  know,  his 
affairs  are  in  anytliing  but  a  flourishing  condition 
and  apropos,  you  may  be  a  little  surprised  to  find  me 
still  in  Rome.  A  few  months  ago,  I  should  have  been 
surprised  myself,  but  in  this  world  we  must  accustom 
ourselves  to  odd  things.  Not  long  before  I  was  to 
start  North  with  Mr.  Gibson,  I  received  a  letter  from 
my  good  father,  which  convinced  me  I  ought  not 
to  undertake  a  journey  v/hich  would  under  any  cir- 
cumstances be  expensive,  even  witli  the  best  manage- 
ment, and  which  I  knew  I  could  not  take  without 
sooner  or  later  making  additional  demands  upon  him. 
A  little  later  I  wrote  to  you,  for  I  could  not  bear 


36  HARRIET  HOSMER 

that  you,  dear  Mr.  Crow,  should  think  that  I  had 
been  making  a  Hght  use  of  your  Hberahty.  The  fact 
is,  that  few  know  what  one  needs  to  enable  one  to 
study  in  the  best  and  the  speediest  way.  All  that  I 
have  spent  is,  to  a  sculptor,  "  stock  in  trade."  It  is 
that  pecuniary  bread  cast  upon  the  waters  which  will 
return,  I  hope,  not  after  "  many  days."  I  only  wish 
that  all  had  half  so  clear  a  notion  of  the  necessity  of 
time  and  study  as  you  have.  No  one  knows  what  it 
is  until  one  puts  one's  foot,  or  rather  hand,  into  it. 
Well,  the  result  of  the  whole  is  that  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  to  ask  my  dear  father  for  nothing  more, 
partly  because  I  think  I  really  ought  not,  and  partly 
because  I  believe  he  himself  thinks  I  ought,  by  this 
time,  to  be  getting  my  own  bread  and  butter.  I  have 
sold  my  horse  and  am  staying  in  Rome  and  working. 
You  ask  me  if  I  have  commissions.  I  have  made 
several  copies  of  the  busts  I  have  modelled,  but  hith- 
erto have  not  been  so  desirous  of  making  original 
things  as  of  studying  composition  and  modelling.  I 
have  been  here  less  than  three  years,  during  which 
time  I  have  not  been  idle,  and  have  received  the  appro- 
bation of  my  master.  Now  I  am  ready  to  execute 
original  works  and  shall  be  glad  of  any  commissions 
for  such.  I  shall  have  more  to  show  in  my  studio 
this  winter.  Your  figure,  for  instance,  and  a  small 
figure  I  am  modelling  now. 

Your (I  do  not  tell  you  what  it  is,  but  it  is 

neither  the  Lost  Pleiad  nor  Galatea)  is  progressing 
and  a  more  exquisite  piece  of  marble  is  not  to  be 
found.  I  might  try  a  hundred  times  and  not  find 
anything  so  beautiful.  I  want  much  to  send  it  to 
you,  that  you  may  see  what  I  have  been  doing.  You 
have  only  a  little  bust  of  mine  and  I  can  do  better 
now.  I  have  divers  designs  which  I  am  anxious  to 
work  out,  and  have  a  very  hopeful  heart,  so  daresay 
I  shall,  sooner  or  later.     I  am  now  all  occupied  with 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  37 

composing  something  for  ]Mr.  V., — who  shall  have 
his  own  way  in  everything  whoever  he  may  prove 
to  be. 

Now,  dearest  friend,  is  not  this  a  long  story?  I 
have  no  more  secrets  from  you  than  if  I  were  your 
own  daughter,  in  fact,  I  always  look  upon  you  as  a 
father.  I  am  very  well  after  my  twenty-five  boils, 
thank  you,  and  am  learning  to  make  walking  take 
the  place  of  riding.  One  of  these  days  I  will  have 
another  pony  maybe,  for  I  admit  to  myself  no  ques- 
tion of  failure.  I  shall  begin  now  to  press  on,  and 
mean  to  be  neither  desponding  nor  lazy.  Write  to 
me,  won't  you?  This  letter  is  particularly  for  you, 
you  know.  Hold  me  as  ever  in  some  sort  your 
affectionate    daughter, 

Hatty. 

After  a  short  journey  and  respite  from  the  heat 
of  Rome  Miss  Hosmer  writes: 

Rome,  Oct.  12,  1854.. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

On  returning  last  night  I  found  your  letter  waiting 
for  me.  Indeed,  I  frankly  confess  that  I  don't  know 
what  to  say,  except  that  it  seems  a  God's  providence 
and  that  it  has  relieved  my  mind  of  a  burden.  The 
fact  is  that  at  the  time  of  my  "  bankruptcy  "  I  was 
in  debt.  I  had  two  or  three  bills  coming  due  for  marble, 
and  at  the  same  time  had  to  pay  for  work  already 
going  on.  It  is  very  true  that  when  one  has  a  name, 
sculpture  is  a  mine  of  wealth,  but  it  is  equally  true 
that,  name  or  no  name,  one  must  spend  a  good  deal 
of  money  before  one  can  hope  to  make  one.  Now, 
as, I  said  in  my  last  letter,  I  have  spent  money  with 
too  little  thought,  but  no  one  has  an  idea  of  how 
expensive  an  affair  it  is,  at  first.  You,  dear  Mr.  Crow, 
know  that   one   must   have   a   good   capital   to   begin 


38  HARRIET  HOSMER 

business  at  all,  much  more  to  begin  with  advantage. 
It  is  exactly  the  same  thing  in  sculpture.  A  painter 
has  no  expense  of  the  kind;  he  buys  his  canvas  and 
his  paints,  which  cost  little  and  he  is  made;  but  from 
the  time  a  sculptor  begins,  he  finds  that  without  funds 
he  is  at  a  standstill.  Some  seem  to  think  that 
statues  can  be  made  like  rail-fences.  I  do  not  agree 
with  them.  It  is  work,  work,  work,  and  if  they  would 
try  their  hands  at  it,  they  would  become  aware  of  the 
length  of  time  one  must  study,  before  one  can  hope  to 
do  anything.  Sometimes  I  cannot  help  thinking  that 
too  much  is  expected  of  me  in  so  short  a  time  as  I 
have  been  here.  Why,  it  is  not  three  years  yet,  and 
what  is  that  for  learning  so  difficult  an  art  in,  an  art 
wliich  requires  years  and  years  to  master?  And  when 
we  consider  that  the  first  year  I  was  kept  copying  the 
antique,  it  leaves  rather  a  short  time  for  me  to  have 
made  my  fortune  in,  as  I  am  afraid  I  was  expected 
to  do.  My  master  is  the  one  to  know  if  I  have  made 
progress,  and  he  is  satisfied  with  me,  and  is  not  one 
easily  satisfied   either. 

Now,  dear  Mr.  Crow,  I  dare  say  you  will  say, 
"What  is  the  girl  driving  at?"  Why,  simply  this, 
that  you  have  understood  my  case  well  enough  to 
lay  me  under  an  obligation,  so  great  that  if  I  were  to 
realize  your  fondest  hopes  of  me,  I  could  never  repay 
you.  One  thing  is  past  denial,  that  however  success- 
ful I  may  become  in  my  profession,  it  is  to  you  that 
I  owe  all.  The  great  thing  in  every  profession,  and 
most  certainly  so  in  art,  is  to  get  a  good  "  start,"  as 
we  Yankees  say,  and  then  all  is  right.  But  without 
this  good  start,  I  want  to  know  what  a  young  artist 
is  to  do?  One  may  model  till  one  is  blind,  and  if  one 
gets  no  commissions  for  one's  works,  what  is  the  use 
of  it,  for  a  work  can  never  be  really  finished  till  it 
is  in  marble.  I  need  not  complain.  When  I  look 
around  and  see  other  artists  who  have  been  here  for 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  39 

years  and  still  are  waiting  for  a  "  start "  and  then 
think  what  a  friend  I  have  in  you,  sensa  complimenti, 
I  wonder  why  I  have  been  so  much  more  blessed  than 
my  neighbors.  Every  successful  artist  in  Rome,  who 
is  living,  or  who  has  ever  lived,  owes  his  success  to  his 
Mr.  Crow.  The  Duke  of  Devonshire  was  Mr.  Gib- 
son's. Mr.  Hope  was  Thorwaldsen's.  And  I  never 
read  the  life  of  any  artist  who  did  not  date  the  rising 
of  his  lucky  star  from  the  hand  of  some  beneficent 
friend  or  patron.  You  know  the  world  pretty  well, 
and  therefore  know  that  ]3eople  in  general  wait  for 
some  one  to  lead  the  way,  and  then  they  are  ready 
to  follow,  but  the  one  to  lead  that  way  is  not  sent 
to  every  poor  soul  who  wants  it.  It  is  very  inspiring, 
too,  to  know  that  there  is  somebody  who  has  great 
faith  in  you.  You  seem  to  work  up  to  that  faith 
and  you  do  the  very  best  you  can,  not  to  disappoint 
the  one  who  hopes  so  much  from  you.  I  don't  want 
to  be  "  puffed  up  with  my  own  conceit,"  as  the  Bible 
hath  it,  but  at  the  same  time  I  am  determined  that 
you  shall  not  be  wholly  disappointed  in  me.  I  don't 
mean  that  you  shall  say,  five  or  ten  years  hence, 
"  Well,  I  expected  that  girl  would  do  something,  but 
she  never  has."  If  I  have  the  use  of  my  legs  and 
arms,  I  will  show  you  that  I  haven't  arms  in  vain. 
I  am  not  very  easily  cast  down,  but  have  great  faith, 
too,  as  well  as  yourself,  and  I  have  received  a  lesson, 
which  I  shall  not  forget,  and  which  will  do  me  a  vast 
deal  of  good. 

I  have  been  off  for  a  little  holiday  and  have  come 
back  as  stout  as  a  Milo  for  my  winter's  work,  which 
is  to  begin  without  loss  of  time.  Now  Mr.  V's  turn 
comes.  So  he  is  not  a  myth!*  Well,  then  you  are 
his  inspirer,  and  if  I  should  have  an  order  from  the 
Poles,  I  should  be  persuaded  that  somehow  or  other 

*  For  a  long  time  Miss  Hosraer  would  not  be  persuaded  that  this  commission 
did  not  really  come  from  Mr.  Crow. 


40  HARRIET  HOSMER 

you  had  a  hand  in  it.  Between  ourselves,  I  am  going 
to  make  him  a  statue  of  Beatrice  Cenci,  and  shall 
beg  that  on  its  way  home,  when  that  time  comes,  I 
may  send  it  to  the  London  Exhibition.  As  to  your 
marble  daughter,  she  is  getting  along  quite  bravely, 
marble  without  a  single  mark  anywhere.  It  will  be 
all  finished  before  the  winter  is  over,  but  I  shall  like 
to  keep  it  while  the  strangers  are  here,  and  then  it  will 
go  to  you.  I  have  a  particular  fancy  that  you  shall 
have  the  first  thing  I  do. 

Well,  now  I  have  been  "  the  good  girl "  you  told 
me  to  be,  and  have  drawn  for  half  the  amount  you 
have  so  kindly  sent  me.  I  think  with  that  I  shall  be 
safe,  for  as  soon  as  the  little  figure  which  I  modelled 
this  summer  is  finished,  as  it  is  already  ordered,*  I 
shall  get  along.  I  did  miss  my  horse  for  a  whiles 
but  I  am  quite  used  to  doing  without  it  now,  and  have 
become  a  famous  walker.  Well,  you  will  tliink  I  have 
written  a  rambling  sort  of  letter,  but  I  have  spoken 
right  out  what  I  think  just  as  it  came  into  my  head 
and  heart.  After  I  have  done  sometliing  which  I  shall 
really  be  pleased  to  show  you,  I  may  run  home  and 
see  all  my  good  friends,  among  whom  there  is  no 
one  who  has  done  so  much  for  me  as  your  own  dear 
self.  This  is  a  sort  of  particular  letter  to  you,  you 
know.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 


Dear  Mr.  C:  ^°**^'  O'^*"  '^^'  ^^^*- 

I  returned  to  Rome  four  days  since,  and  am  con- 
vinced that  if  I  could  come  out  of  Paradise  to  this 
place,  I  should  think  it  perfect.  Don't  hold  me  a 
reprobate  when  I  tell  you  that  the  longer  I  stay,  the 
more  frightful  seems  the  idea  of  ever  going  away,  and 

*The  Puck. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  41 

the  more  impossible  seems  to  be  that  of  being  happy 
elsewhere.  My  father  says  that  of  all  places  in  the 
world,  Watertown  is  the  place  for  him,  and  I  say 
that  of  all  places  in  the  world,  Rome  is  the  one  for 
me.  Nothing  this  side  of  Eternity  will  induce  me  to 
go  to  America  to  live  for  the  next  twenty-five  years. 

I  fancy  by  this  time  you  must  have  received 
Daphne.  And  I  hope  you  liked  it,  as  far  as  a  bust 
goes.  After  all,  busts  are  not  so  satisfactoiy  to  make, 
as  statues,  for  one  is  so  limited  in  the  power  of  ex- 
pressing one's  thoughts.  .  .  .  They  are  making  a 
great  noise  in  Rome  now  about  a  miracle  working 
da  se,  in  a  picture  of  the  Crucifixion.  The  eyes  are 
seen  to  open  and  shut,  at  least  by  the  faithful,  and 
the  church  is  filled  from  morning  till  night,  by  people 
ready  to  be  considered  of  the  holy,  by  persuading 
themselves  they  see  the  miracle.  The  Pope  went 
to-day,  and  I  believe  he  is  to  have  the  whole  thing 
removed  to  a  more  sanctified  place.  Meantime  the 
square  around  it  is  converted  into  a  marketplace, 
where  are  to  be  found  all  kinds  of  wares,  from  wool- 
len shirts  to  rocking-horses,  the  more  worldly  part 
of  the  community  taking  advantage  of  a  truly  blessed 
opportunit)^ 

Mrs.  Kemble,  alas!  is  not  to  be  here  this  winter. 
Mrs.  Sartoris  is,  however,  and  she  is  such  an  angel, 
really,  without  exaggeration,  a  divinity.  Her  voice 
is  divine,  and  she  herself  is  more  divine  than  her 
voice.  You  will  smile  at  my  enthusiasm,  but  if  you 
knew  her  more,  you  would  agree  with  me  perfectlj^ 
There  is  only  one  woman  like  her,  that  I  know,  in 
point  of  goodness,  and  that  is  JNIrs.   Sedgwick. 

Next  week  the  forestieri  will  begin  to  arrive.  There 
is  no  time  so  cosey  in  Rome  as  when  you  come  back 
early  and  find  no  strangers  here.  I  wish  }^ou  could 
walk  into  my  corner  of  Mr.  Gibson's  apartment  (I 
won't  say  my  studio)    and  see  what  I  am  about.     I 


42  HARRIET  HOSMER 

have  divers  things  ready  to  send  away,  but  the  fact 
is,  I  want  to  keep  them  this  winter  to  show  what  I 
have  been  doing.  Next  year  I  shall  perhaps  be 
elevated  to  the  dignity  of  a  studio  of  my  own. 

Yours,  H. 
TO  MRS.  CARR. 

j^        ^  Rome,  Oct.  30,  1854. 

...  I  am  taken  to  task  for  being  an  alien  to  my 
country,  but  do  you  know  when  one  has  lived  in 
Rome  for  some  time  there  is  no  place  afterwards.  It 
is  a  moral,  jDhysical  and  intellectual  impossibility  to 
live  elsewhere.  Everything  is  so  utterly  different 
here  that  it  would  seem  like  going  into  another 
sphere,  to  go  back  to  America.  Eveiything  looks 
homey  and  the  dear  Italian  tongue  sounds  as  natural 
as  English  and  everything  is  beautiful,  I  glory  in 
the  Campagna,  the  art  is  divine,  and  I  dearly  love 
the  soft  climate.  I  should  perish  in  the  cold  winters 
at  home,  besides,  I  shall  be  positively  tied  here  after 
this.  I  hope  to  have  a  studio  and  workmen  of  my 
own,  and  how  could  I  be  absent,  for  "  quando  il  gatto 
e  fuori"  etc?  Ah,  there  is  nothing  like  it!  I  admire 
America,  but  (and  I  hear  your  reproaches)  my  heart's 
best  love  is  for  Italy.  I  wonder  if  Daphne  has  yet 
reached  you?  I  hope  you  will  like  her  and  look 
upon  her  as  a  near  relation.  I  am  making  a  statue 
now  that  is  to  become  yours  one  of  these  days.  It 
makes  me  so  happy  to  think  that  you  will  all  have 
the  very  first  things  I  send  from  Rome, — my  first 
bust  and  first  statue.*     I  know  they  are  going  into 

*  CEnone. 

"  This  statue  portrays  GEnone  in  deep  and  speechless  grief  at  the 
death  of  Paris.  The  face  is  of  classic  beauty,  the  drapery  strikingly  natural, 
and  the  position  of  the  body  bending  over  a  shepherd's  crook  on  one  hand, 
while  the  other  hangs  listlessly  by  her  side,  is  expressive  in  the  highest  degree 
of  the  grief  which  the  artist  has  sought  to  embody." — London  Art  Jour7ial. 


CENONE 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  43 

kind,  good  hands,  and  I  feel  tenderly  for  them.  You 
can't  guess  how  busy  I  am  from  morning  till  night, 
nor  how  an  artist  must  study  and  work  to  produce 
anytliing  worthy  of  the  name  of  art.  Here  have  I 
been  pegging  away  for  more  than  two  years,  and  I 
have  learned  just  enough  to  feel  that  I  know  notliing; 
but  pazienza,  col  tempo  tutto — forse. 

Your  H. 


CHAPTER  III 

1854-1857 

The  winters  were  passing  now  in  ardent  work  re- 
lieved by  the  society  of  many  friends  and  of  interest- 
ing ^dsitors.  The  summers  were  varied  by  Httle  jaunts 
away  from  Rome  to  escape  its  great  heat.  After  one 
of  these  and  a  short  stay  in  Florence,  Miss  Hosmer 
received  the  following  letters  from  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Browning: 

ROBERT  BROWNING  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Florence^  16th  November,  1854. 

Writing  to  you,  dearest  Hattie,  is  almost  like 
breaking  a  spell  and  driving  you  away,  or  at  least 
putting  in  evidence  for  the  first  time  that  you  are 
really  gone,  out  of  sight,  out  of  hearing,  out  of  reach. 
You  won't,  then,  come  in  any  more  of  a  morning,  or 
afternoon,  in  the  old  way?  I  can  tell  j^ou,  and  you 
will  believe  it,  I  think,  that  often  and  often  Ba  *  and 
I  have  seen  you,  on  the  queer  chair  at  the  little  end 
of  the  table,  on  the  sofa,  and  in  all  old  places  of  yours. 
You  are  dear  and  good  to  speak  to  us,  as  you  do,  and 
to  feel,  as  you  say,  for  us.  Come  back  to  us,  at  any 
distance  of  time,  and  you'll  see  whether  we  love  you 
less,  more  it  won't  do  to  promise.  Me:intime  both  of 
us  wish  you  well,  vAih  our  whole   heart. 

Now  then,  the  quarrel  which  lovers  always  indulge 
in: — What  business  had  yon  to  suppose  we  wanted 

*  Mrs.  Browning.  44 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  45 

those  cups  and  spoons  to  remember  you  by?  There 
I  found  them  on  my  return  that  last  morning;  would 
not  a  flower  or  two  have  done  as  well?  Should  we 
not  have  kept  it  equally  for  your  sake?  We  will  keep 
these  and  think  of  you,  however,  and  so  will  Penini 
who  told  me,  out  of  his  own  head,  tliis  very  morning 
(on  hearing  me  say  I  was  about  to  write)  to  thank 
you  for  his  writing  box,  which  he  greatly  delights  in. 
He  is  very  well,  imaginative  and  noisy,  and  is  gone 
this  moment  to  give  Isa  *  the  benefit  of  his  qualities. 
She  wrote  to  you  the  other  day.  I  know  nothing 
would  surprise  and  delight  you  more  than  the  e\ddent 
and  partial  improvement  in  her  state.  She  can  walk 
only  too  well,  in  fact.  Is  not  Zanettif  a  man  now? 
All  this  comes  of  his  one  visit  and  prescription.  She 
is  still  up  in  the  cold,  at  the  villa,  and  keeps  there 
until  the  end  of  the  month,  when  she  descends  into 
the  town,  but  she  will  have  told  you  all  that. 

Now  about  yourself.  The  news  of  your  finding 
just  the  domicile  you  wanted,  reached  us  thro'  Isa, 
What  a  good  chance!  You  must  tell  us,  when  you 
write  next,  how  you  really  are  at  your  dear 
Rome.  .  .  . 

No  writing  about  art  in  this  letter,  which  just 
knocks  at  your  door  for  news.  I  am  quite  happy  to 
think  of  you  and  that  noble  Page  J  together.  Stick 
to  him  like  a  leech,  for  it  is  real  life  blood  you  will 
get  out  of  him,  real  thoughts  and  facts,  nothing  like 
sham  or  conventionalism.  I  carry  in  my  mind  all  I 
can  of  his  doctrine  about  the  true  proportions  of  the 
human  figure,  and  test  it  by  whatever  strikes  me  as 
beautiful,  or  the  reverse.  How  I  wish  I  could  see 
your  little  room  and  what's  in  it.  Do  help  me  to  see 
in  some  measure.    Does  the  fillet  you  mention  depend 

*Miss  Isa  Blagden,  who  had  had  a  serious  illness. 

fTheir  doctor. 

:j:  The  portrait  painter. 


46  HARRIET  HOSMER 

from  the  hand?  or  lie  on  the  ground,  perhaps?  Do 
you  draw  from  Teresa  or  any  new  model?  Are  you 
turning  over  in  your  mind  the  two  Circe  groups? 
How  goes  on  the  bust  of  Mrs.  Cass? 

I  called  on  Powers  the  other  morning,  he  has  wholly 
changed  the  drapery  of  his  statue;  he  found,  he  says, 
that  the  drapeiy  from  the  breast  to  the  waist  would 
have  a  bad  effect  in  its  straight  line,  and  now  there 
is  to  be  a  sort  of  mediaeval  bodice  of  velvet,  and  under- 
clotliing  for  the  thighs,  with  buttons,  if  not  other 
ornaments,  and,  frankly,  I  don't  understand  it  at  all, 
for  Milton's  "  Melancholy  "  (if  this  is  meant  for  her) 
is  said  to  be  "  like  a  nun  "  and  I  should  have  styled 
this  a  chatelaine  in  ecstasy,  or  contemplation.  I 
write  this  only  to  you,  and  for  you,  for  one  should 
not  pronounce  definitely  upon  a  work  still  in  progress, 
and  Powers  has  talent  enough  to  redeem  or  explain 
everything  yet,  but  I  do  doubt  and  fear  the  efficacy 
of  every  alteration  he  has  made  since  the  first  gauze 
drapery  he  threw  around  it.  He  saw  my  disappoint- 
ment and  said,  rightly  enough,  I  must  wait  for  the 
completion  of  the  WDrk — only,  then  where  will  be 
the  use  of  criticism?  ...  I  saw,  the   same  morning, 

S 's    statue.      He   has    worked   hard    at   it    and 

has  done  it  a  deal  of  good,  though  I  still  think  the  type 
abominable,  pinched  in,  here  and  there.  The  face  is 
ugly  as  ever,  but  the  body  looks  truthful  now,  and 
the  attitude,  which  seems  too  pronounced,  will  do 
better  in  bronze,  I  think,  than  plaster:  bronze  is  such 
inadequate  stuff  for  the  expression  of  flesh,  com- 
pared with  marble.  .  .  . 

Will  you,  by  the  bye,  offer  my  true  respects  to 
Mr.  Gibson,  whom  I  had  hoped  to  see  here,  and  whose 
genius  I  am  less  than  ever  in  danger  of  forgetting? 
In  standing  off  a  little  from  it  {his  genius)  one  sees 
its  height  better.  You  must  tell  me  how  his  great 
work  prospers,   and  if  the  Pandora  is   sketched  yet. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  47 

And  how  does  your  portrait  *  get  on,  and  is  there 
anything  else  about  Page  that  you  can  tell  me?  How 
does  my  picture  look  now?  And,  Hattie,  how  does 
your  horse  do,  I  must  not  forget  that. 

I  mean  to  write  to  dear  Mrs.  Story  and  be  written 
to,  so  only  our  kindest  love  to  her!  We  see  next  to 
nobody,  but  make  up  a  rare  fire  and  get  on  a  little 
with  our  work,  more  than  when  you  were  here,  by  a 
good  deal,  yet  we  had  rather  be  idle  and  have  you. 
Best  remembrances  to  Leighton.  I  wish  his  picture 
all  success  from  my  heart. 

What  of  the  Greek  now,  pupil  of  mine?  and  what 
do  you  read  or  intend  to  read?  Poetry,  mind;  and 
the  sketching  once  a  day,  and  inventing  something, 
don't  you  remember?  Oh!  you  will  succeed,  I  know! 
Here's  a  letter  now;  won't  you  answer  it  soon,  and 
wish  that  letter  writing  may  soon  be  succeeded  by 
face  to  face  talking?  Good-bye  and  God  bless  you, 
dearest  Hattie.  I  shall  leave  the  rest  of  the  sheet  to 
Ba,  who  will  speak  for  herself. 

Yours   ever, 

Robert  Browning. 


MRS.  BROWNING  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

I  quite  shiver  as  I  begin  to  write  to  you,  dearest 
Hattie, — and  I  daresay  it  is  a  sense  of  my  demerits, 
as  well  as  of  the  cold.  It  has  been  so  cold  here,  Hattie! 
warmer  to-day,  though — and  we  have  been  so  wicked 
and  ungrateful,  not  to  have  written  all  this  time,  to 
thank  you  for  the  mj^stical  egg  boilers,  whose  spirit 
of  Ame  and  love  must  burn  together!  How  much 
too  kind  you  were,  to  think  so  of  us.  Penini  f  was  in 
ecstasy,  and  I  wonder  the  hinges  of  his  writing  box 

*  By  Page.     This  is  now  in  Cambridge,  Mass. 
f  Her  son. 


48  HARRIET  HOSMER 

haven't  dropj)ed  off,  at  this  millionth  time  of  opening 
and  shutting.  "  Leally,"  says  he,  "  I  must  say,  this 
is  a  velly  pretty  present  of  dear  Hattie's."  That  was 
a  soliloquy  I  happened  to  overhear.  He  has  written 
various  works  since  you  left  us,  and  the  heroine  of 
the  last  romance  was  "  Emily  Susan,"  at  your  service! 

And  we,  do  you  fancy  that  we  don't  miss  you? 
It's  dreadful  to  have  no  chance  company  at  breakfast, 
and  5^ou  must  not  count  on  the  two  egg  boilers,  as 
sufficient  to  console  us  for  the  want  of  the  third 
coffee  cup. 

Isa*  gives  up  Leghorn,  I  am  glad  to  say,  and  we 
are  to  have  her  in  Florence  for  the  winter.  Never 
does  she  cease  lamenting  the  loss  of  you.  Two  female 
friends,  suddenly  dropped  from  the  clouds,  bring  no 
heavenly  balm  for  the  wound.  Ah  well  when  spring 
comes  we  shall  have  Hattie  and  the  roses,  and  you 
will  be  as  gladly  welcomed  by  us  all,  in  Paris,  or 
London,  where  there  is  everybody,  as  here  in  Florence 
where  there  is  nobody.  May  God  keep  you.  Give 
our  love  to  dear  Mrs.  Story  and  to  dear  Mr.  Page. 

Your  ever  affectionate, 

E.  B.  B. 

Of  her  second  winter  in  Rome,  Miss  Hosmer  wrote, 
in  later  years: 

"  It  was  rendered  memorable  by  my  introduction 
to  the  Brownings,  and  as  time  went  on  and  acquaint- 
ance ripened  into  friendship  and  intimacy,  how  often 
did  I  climb  the  cold,  cheerless,  stone  stairway  which 
led  to  their  modest  apartment  on  the  third  floor  of 
42  Bocca  di  Leone.  Nothing  cold  or  cheerless,  how- 
ever, when  their  door  was  gained.  There  was  ever 
the  warm  and  affectionate  welcome,  and  there  was 
also  '  Flush-my-dog '  ready  to  wag  the  poor  remnant 

*  Miss  Blagden. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  49 

of  a  tail,  for  in  those  days,  Flush  was  suffering  from 
Anno  Domini  and  bore  but  faint  traces  of  his  former 
beauty.  The  appearance  of  ]Mrs.  Browning  at  that 
time  is  well  preserved  in  most  of  the  portraits  which 
are  familiar  to  us,  whether  in  engraving  or  photog- 
raphy. The  same  abundant  curls  framing  a  face, 
plain  in  feature,  but  redeemed  by  wonderful  dark 
eyes,  large  and  loving  and  luminous  as  stars.  The 
nose  slightly  disposed  to  upturn;  the  mouth,  well, 
perhaps  in  this  feature  we  discover  the  key  to  some 
of  Mrs.  Browning's  less  delicate  verse,  large,  full- 
lipped,  yet  harboring  always  a  sweet  compensating 
smile.  Her  voice,  slow  and  with  the  somewhat  labored 
enunciation  peculiar  to  delicate  health.  The  manner 
ever  gracious,  with  a  touch  of  shyness  at  times.  Small 
in  stature  and  in  form  so  fragile  that  the  gentlest 
zephyr  might  have  borne  her  away. 

But  not  so  suggestive  of  his  appearance  in  earlier 
years  are  the  portraits  of  Robert  Browning  as  we  now 
know  them.  True,  j^ears  have  passed,  and  photog- 
raphy now  reveals  to  us  a  face  of  great  intellectual 
power,  but  also  the  face  of  the  comfortable  man  of 
the  world,  tinged,  perhaps,  with  a  certain  sense  of 
success,  but  in  the  days  of  which  I  write,  he  dwelt 
apart  from  the  every-day  world;  he  stood,  I  think, 
on  a  higher  plane,  fulfilling  in  every  sense  the  ideal 
we  have  formed  of  a  poet.  The  broad  forehead,  the 
black  and  slightly  waving  hair,  the  keen  and  clear 
gray  eyes,  the  fresh  complexion  of  faintest  olive  hue, 
and  very  slight,  as  yet,  the  delicate  frame.  There  were 
the  genial,  cheery  voice,  the  unfaihng,  joyous  spirits 
of  youth,  the  unique  conversational  gifts,  witty,  grave 
and  gay  by  turns,  with,  over  all,  a  manner  as  chamiing 
as  any  verse  he  ever  penned.  Accustomed  as  we  now 
are  to  the  halo  which  surrounds  their  names,  it  is 
difficult  to  associate  their  present  popularity  and  fame 
with  the  jjoco  curante  mood  in  which  they  were  then 


50  HARRIET  HOSMER 

regarded.  They  lived  a  life  of  seclusion,  unappre- 
ciated, unobserved.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say,  that 
outside  a  purely  literarj^  coterie,  and  their  modest  cir- 
cle of  personal  friends,  few  had  heard  their  names. 
But  what  cared  those  great  spirits  for  the  outer  world? 
They  lived  in  a  world  of  their  own,  happiest  when 
alone  therein.  Browning,  quite  large  enough  to  be 
amused  by  a  shaft  aimed  at  himself,  used  to  relate 
with  great  glee,  that  when  on  one  occasion  he  entered 
a  certain  bank  in  Leghorn  and  was  received  by  its 
great  financier  with  a  keen  glance  over  his  spectacles 
and  an  inquiry  as  to  who  he  was,  '  I  am  Mr.  Brown- 
ing,' said  the  poet,  '  Mr.  Robert  Browning.'  '  Oh,' 
replied  the  financier,  '  you  are  Mr.  Robert  Browning, 
are  you?  That  says  nothing  to  me,  I  never  heard  the 
name.'  And  others  who  were  a  little  more  enlight- 
ened were  not  enough  so  to  be  sure  of  their  nationality. 
More  than  once  was  I  asked  by  English  people  in 
those  old  times,  about  '  your  countrymen  the  Brown- 
ings,' and  when  I  have  expressed  surprise  at  their 
ignorance  of  their  proud  possession,  '  Oh,  yes,  yes, 
Mr.  Browning  is  English,  but  Mrs.  Browning  is 
American? '  Certain  it  is  that  Mrs.  Browning  was 
known  and  appreciated  in  our  country  before  she  re- 
ceived large  recognition  in  her  own,  and  it  was  not 
until  after  her  death  and  Mr.  Browning  became  per- 
sonally known  in  England,  that  liis  own  countrymen 
learned  his  value  and  his  name  became  a  household 
word.  In  those  old  Roman  days  the  halo  had  not 
dawned." 

During   this   winter   Mrs.    Kemble   wrote   to    Miss 
Hosmer : 

16  Saville  Row,  London,  Saturday,  Dec.  9,  1854. 
My  very  dear  little  Capellina: 

How  often  I  wish  I  could  see  your  funny  and  pleas- 
ant and  beloved  little  physiognomy  for  five  minutes! 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  51 

Thank  you,  my  dear,  for  your  Idnd  letter  and  for  the 
news  it  contained  about  Sally.*  I  had  had  the  sum 
and  substance  of  all  you  have  written  me  from  Mrs. 
Sedgwick  before,  but  it  is  matter  that  will  bear  re- 
peating, and  your  kindness  in  writing  it  all  to  me 
touched  me  very  much.  I  have  had  within  the  past 
few  days  a  letter  from  V.  V.,  giving  a  long  account 
of  her  in  Philadelphia.  It  confirms  all  that  you  tell 
me  and  certainly  gives  me  some  ground  to  hope  that 
my  future  may  be  brighter  than  the  past. 

But,  my  sweet  little  Hattj^,  why  have  5^ou  said  not 
one  word  to  me  of  j^ourself?  Of  your  new  lodging, 
how  many  rooms  you  have,  and  the  etage,  how  it  is 
furnished,  what  aspect  you  have,  what  sort  of  studio? 
Above  all,  my  dear  child,  have  you  told  me  nothing 
of  what  interests  ever  so  little  or  much;  your  work, 
your  plans,  your  ideas;  what  you  are  doing  and  what 
you  are  thinking  of  doing,  what  new  shapes  of  beauty 
and  of  grace  are  haunting  you,  whether  j^ou  have 
fured  any  of  your  fair  sisterhood  of  stars  in  clay  or 
marble,  or  whether  your  heavens,  with  all  those  jjretty 
creatures  floating  in  them,  are  still  only  planetary? 
Dear  Hatty,  don't  you  know  how  much  I  care  for 
your  work,  and  how  glad  I  should  have  been  to  have 
heard  from  you  something  of  what  you  were  doing? 
And  have  you  been  riding?  Have  you  been  out 
greeting  our  well-beloved  haunts,  those  beautiful 
slopes  and  valle.ys  Vvhere  you  ought  to  see  the  wood 
nymi^hs  bodily?  I  have  wished  very  much  to  hear 
from  you,  my  dear,  but  I  seldom  blame  anybody  for 
not  writing  to  me,  except  the  members  of  my  own 
family,  and  they,  I  think,  positively  ought  to  write. 
I  have  gone  so  far  as  to  wonder  once  or  twice  that 
you  have  not  written,  but  I  knew  you  had  been 
pleasantly  occupied  all  the  summer  at  Florence,  and 
that  when  you  went  back  to  Rome  you  would  have 

•  Her  daughter,  Sarah  Butler. 


52  HARRIET  HOSMER 

your  hands  quite  too  full  of  clay  to  think  of  taking 
hold  of  a  pen.  My  precious  Roman  casts  are  here, 
consecrating  my  smoky  London  lodging  with  remi- 
niscences of  Rome  and  you.  They  have  marble  slabs 
to  stand  on  and  grand  looking  glasses  behind  them, 
but  though  they  are  judicious  and  say  little  about  it, 
I  have  no  doubt  they  are  divinely  disgusted  with  their 
present  gloomy  residence. 

Dear  Hatty,  you  know  what  sorrow  I  have  been 
in,  all  alone  here.  It  is  so  far  past  now,  that  already 
the  sense  of  strangeness  has  worn  off  and  I  have  got 
accustomed  to  my  new  grief.*  I  am  thankful  to 
hear  of  Edward  Sartoris'  t  recovery.  He  is  so  seldom 
ill  that  all  one's  confidence  in  habitual  health  and 
strength  is  shaken  if  anytliing  ails  him.  My  poor 
Adelaide  must  have  had  a  miserable  time,  what  with 
all  the  afflicting  news  she  has  been  receiving  from 
me  and  with  Efdward's  illness.  You  are  very  right, 
my  dearest  little  Capellina,  to  see  as  much  as  you 
can  of  her;  you  will  seldom  see  a  more  amiable,  or  a 
more  charming  person,  and  she,  I  am  sure,  would  like 
to  have  your  warm  heart  and  clever,  bright  intellect 
and  cheery  young  spirit  near  her. 

God  bless  you,  my  dear,  give  my  dearest  love  to 
Adelaide,  my  respects  to  Mr.  Gibson,  and  believe 
me,  ever  as  ever, 

Your  very  affectionate  old  friend, 

Fanny  Kemble. 

After  another  winter  of  work  the  artist  writes: 

r,         nr      r^  RoME,  Feb.  6,  1855. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

There  really  seems  to  be  a  chance  of  peace.  J    What 

a  fine  thing  it  will  be!     The  Enghsh,  though,  don't 

♦The  death  of  her  father,  Charles  Kemble. 

f  Her  brother-in-law. 

X  An  allusion  to  the  Crimean  War. 


'     :   I 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  53 

appear  to  be  very  anxious  for  it,  and  I  don't  see  how 
we  can  blame  them  for  wanting  to  regain  their  war- 
like name.  They  certainly  have  not  come  off  with 
flying  colors,  but  I  dare  say  the  lesson  may  do  them 
good,  that  they  are  not  quite  omnipotent.  I  oughtn't 
to  say  anything,  though,  against  the  nation,  for  I 
like  them  most  heartily  and  have  the  greatest  possible 
respect  for  them  all.  Certainly  if  we  are  influenced 
by  private  motives,  as  I  suppose  we  alwaj^s  are,  more 
or  less,  I  ought  to  affectionate  them  prodigiously,  for 
I  have  more  friends  among  them,  than  among  my 
own  countrymen,  and  above  all,  one  of  them  is  my 
master. 

By  the  bye,  has  my  father  sent  you  my  master's 
report  of  me?  I  told  him  he  must,  and  then  from  it 
you  can  tell  what  sort  of  a  girl  I  am,  for  as  I  seem 
to  be  your  particular  protegee  I  want  you  to  be 
posted.  I  am  very  busy  on  the  "  Cenci."  It  is  for 
Mr.  v.,  and  remembering  the  place  he  intends  her  to 
occupy,  I  am  sparing  no  pains  or  patience,  to  make 
her  in  some  degree  worthy  of  it.  Mr.  Gibson  seems 
to  think  it  is  getting  on  well,  and  I  onl}'-  wish  you, 
dear  Mr.  Crow,  could  walk  in  and  see  it  in  its  present 
condition.  When  are  you  coming?  Rome,  after  all, 
isn't  such  a  tremendous  journey  from  America.  In 
twenty-one  days  you  could  be  here!  I  will  study 
"  Murray "  till  I  know  every  word  in  it,  for  your 
benefit,  and  then  will  devote  them  all  to  your  service. 

I  enclose  a  note  to  Dr.  McDowell,  which  you  will 
do  me  a  favor  by  delivering.  I  often  think  I  should 
like  to  tell  him  I  haven't  forgotten  his  kindness  to 
me.  He  did  me  an  invaluable  service  in  the  Anatomy 
Department.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

One  or  two  letters,  almost  too  intimate  for  publica- 
tion, seem  needed  here,  to  reveal  the  warm  feminine 


54  HARRIET  HOSMER 

side  of  the  artist's  nature.  Although  then,  as  ever, 
her  strongest  heart-love  was  given  to  art,  they  show 
how  keenly  she  longed  for,  and  eagerly  accepted,  the 
ties  of  family  life  and  love,  which  had  been  denied 
to  her  own  youth,  when  death  took  from  her  home  all 
except  her  father.  Then  she  was  left  to  a  loneliness, 
perhaps  not  recognized  by  either,  with  all  his  efforts 
to  render  her  life  happy,  despite  his  own  absorbing 
profession.  In  reading  these  early  letters,  one  can 
but  smile  at  the  mature  and  wisely  maternal,  yet 
spinsteresque,  advice  addressed  to  the  already  be- 
loved god-child,*  scarce  two  months  old.  Tliis  happy 
relationship  proved,  through  all  the  twenty-five  years 
during  which  that  young  life  was  lent  to  earth,  a  most 
tender  and  generous  one.  The  watchful  and  ever 
increasing  love  seemed  to  soften  and  beautify  a  life 
that  might  else  have  grown  lonely  and  self-centred  if 
left  entirely  to  work,  and  might  have  gathered  some- 
thing of  the  hardness  of  the  marbles  amid  which  she 
lived. 

TO  HARRIET  HOSMER  CARR. 

Rome,  March,  1855. 
My  darling  little  god-daughter: 

Two  days  ago  I  received  the  announcement  of  your 
arrival  in  this  world,  which  you  must  make  beautiful 
by  your  smiles.  How  dearly  I  should  love  to  see 
you  with  your  soft,  dimpled  cheeks  and  your  little 
lips  that  are  getting  to  be  just  round  enough  to  kiss, 
though  always  sweet  enough  to  love.  I  shall  love 
you  all  over,  very  much  for  yourself,  and  twice  over, 
for  the  sake  of  your  dear  mother,  who  was  my  best 

*  Harriet  Hosmer  Carr,  the  grandchild  of  Mr.  Crow. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  55 

friend  when  we  w^ere  girls  together,  and  who  is  my 
best  friend  and  sister,  now  that  we  have  begun  the 
world  in  earnest. 

What  a  big  girl  you  will  be  before  I  see  you;  I 
daresay  running  about  and  calling  me  "  Hatty  "  or 
"  Aunt  Hatty."  I  wish  I  could  send  you  a  christening 
dress  and  a  silver  cup,  but  if  you  can  wait  till  I  come 
home,  I  will  bring  you  something  that  will  make  you 
remember  me  better  than  cups  and  gowns. 

As  you  grow  up,  my  darling,  you  must  look  at  all 
the  pretty  pictures  and  figures  you  can  find,  and  then 
when  you  get  to  be  old  like  your  auntie,  you  will 
become  an  artist,  perhaps.  How  would  you  like  to 
come  to  Rome  and  work  in  my  studio  and  make  little 
boys  and  girls  as  beautiful  as  you  are  yourself?  But 
still  better  than  being  a  great  artist  it  will  be,  to  be 
great  as  a  human  being.  That  is  to  have  your  heart 
filled  with  beautiful  and  kindly  thoughts  for  all  around 
you,  as  well  as  to  have  your  brain  filled  with  beautiful 
images,  though  j^ou  know  you  can  never  have  the  latter 
without  the  former,  for  your  marble  children  would  be 
only  the  sculptured  shadows  of  your  soul,  and  if  your 
soul  is  not  pure  and  great,  how  can  you  expect  your 
children  to  be  so? 

But  first  of  all,  begin  by  being  lo\H[ng  and  obedient 
to  the  good  God  who  made  you,  and  next,  to  your 
dear  parents,  and  then  if,  when  you  grow  up  to  be  a 
great  girl,  you  should  go  to  dear  ^Irs.  Sedgwick  to 
study  about  the  "  chain  of  connection  "  *  and  sharpen 
your  mind  on  "  Mental  Arithmetic,"  t  don't  follow 
in  the  footsteps  of  j^our  naughty  god-mamma,  be- 
cause if  you  do,  you  will  have  a  great  deal  to  repent 
of  afterwards! 

Now  you  perceive,  my  darling,  I  have  already  be- 
gun to  lecture  you,  and  you  will  believe  me  a  very 
stern  god-mother,  but  if  you  could   see  me,   I   don't 

*  Combe's.  f  Colburn's. 


56  HARRIET  HOSMER 

tliink  I  should  frighten  you,  but  I  should  hold  you  on 
my  knee  and  play  with  you,  or  tell  you  stories.  Now 
you  must  take  a  whole  shower  of  kisses,  my  little  one, 

Your  most  loving  ^^^  ,,.,,,.. 

°  God-mamma. 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 

Dear  C:  (The  same  date) 

Having  written  to  your  daughter  and  my  god- 
daughter, I  send  this  note  enclosed  to  her  care,  being 
rather  jealous  that  her  mundane  labors  should  begin 
in  my  service.  Truly  I  am  triumphant  in  thinking 
of  my  name  being  immortalized!  I  can't  know  ex- 
actly how  3^ou  feel,  but  I  have  my  ideas  on  the  sub- 
ject, formed  on  my  regard  for  my  own  silent  progeny: 
ideas,  however,  which  nobody  will  deny  are,  in  their 
case,  hammered  out.  ...  I  have  already  settled  her 
profession  and  see  her,  in  my  mind's  eye,  installed 
with  a  chisel,  or  a  lump  of  clay,  her  little  mob-cap  on 
her  head,  and  calling  her  Aunt  Hatty  "  Maestra''  I 
fondly  expect  she  will  make  equestrian  statues  of  all 
the  coming  great  men  of  the  nation!  Kiss  her  count- 
lessly  for  me.  .  .  . 

Your  H. 

During  this  and  the  following  winters,  though  work- 
ing diligently  in  her  studio  through  all  the  daylight 
hours,  the  artist  did  not  deny  herself  the  pleasure  and 
relaxation  of  society  and  friends,  among  whom  she 
w^as  always  warmly  welcomed  and  also  much  sought. 
After  her  late  afternoon  gallop  over  the  Campagna, 
her  evenings  were  spent  at  dinners,  and  followed  by 
receptions  and  musicales,  mostly  in  the  English 
colony.  This  was  composed,  in  those  days,  of  a  cer- 
tain few  who  returned  to  Rome  year  after  year,  to 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  57 

escape  the  fogs  of  London  and  to  enjoy  the  sunshine 
and  art  of  Italy  among  kindred  spirits,  thus  forming 
a  friendly  coterie  of  gifted  and  brilliant  members. 
With  them  were  to  be  found  also  many  interesting 
travellers  from  over  seas.  Among  the  number  her 
letters  make  mention  of  the  Thackerays  and  Trollopes, 
Mrs.  Jameson,  Lady  Marian  Alford,  Lady  Charlotte 
Locker,  the  Walpoles,  Cardwells,  Hawthorne,  Lord 
Houghton,  Sir  William  Boxall,  the  Layards,  Glad- 
stones, Longfellows,  Bryants,  etc.,  besides  many  resi- 
dent artists,  as  the  Stoiys,  Miss  Cushman,  Craw- 
ford, and  others  noted  in  music,  letters,  and  art. 
Those  who  then  visited  the  "  Eternal  City  "  went,  not 
as  many  a  tourist  of  the  present  time,  to  "  see  Rome 
in  a  day,"  and  to  motor  breathlessly  from  sight  to 
sight,  from  ruin  to  ruin,  but  to  make  a  home,  for 
the  time  being,  and  live  their  own  lives  among  the 
glories  of  ancient  art.  It  is  true  there  were  some 
birds  of  passage,  the  "  forestieri"  but  they  came  into 
the  artist's  life  mostly  through  the  studio  door,  as 
patrons,   collectors,   or  admirers. 

Miss  Hosmer's  summers  were  passed  in  refreshing 
journeys  with  her  master  or  other  congenial  com- 
panions in  Italy,  Switzerland,  and  bej^ond,  or  else 
in  visits  to  many  English  friends,  who  admired,  loved, 
and  petted  her,  and  who  made  her  forget  that  her 
native  land  and  kindred  were  too  distant  for  short 
visits  in  those  days  of  few  steamships  and  slow 
crossings. 

In  by-gone  days,  when  there  was  all  time  and 
when  "  time  was  made  for  slaves,"  it  seems  to  have 
been  the  custom  to  ignore  such  casual  things  as  daj^s, 


58  HARRIET  HOSMER 

months,  and  years,  and  so  the  gatherer  of  these  notes, 
disregarding  those  impertinent  markers  of  time,  must 
sometimes  do  the  same. 

Here  are  two  characteristic  notes  from  Mr.  Gibson 
to  Miss  Hosmer  without  date: 

Thursday. 
Dearest: 

Mr.  Layard  is  going  away,  called  to  take  his  leave 
of  you,  will  come  to-morrow  at  two  o'clock,  so  you 
must  be  there. 

Your  slave, 

John  Gibson. 

My  little  Hat: 

I  have  sent  to  Spence  to  say  that  I  am  not  well 
and  cannot  dine  with  him.  I  am  sorry  that  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  come  this  evening  to  JMiss  Cushman's. 
To-morrow  morning  I  hope  to  be  at  the  studio  early. 

Your  slave. 

Then  came  this  letter: 

MR.  BROWNING  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Paris,  Rue  du  Colisee,  3,  Jan.  8,  'o%. 

Had  I  taken  pen  and  written  to  you,  dearest  Hatty, 
once  for  every  ten  times  I  meant  to  do  so  (overnight), 
and  had  you  answered  one  of  every  ten  that  I  so  wrote 
and  I  know  you  would  have  done  better  than  that,  I 
should  have  plenty  to  read  and  comfort  myself  with; 
whereas  now  there  is  only  the  hope  that  we  soon  will 
have  something,  when  you  know  how  happy  it  will 
make  us  two  here  in  the  cold,  to  hear  about  you.  When 
we  got  to  London,  cares  and  calls  and  weariness  all 
day,  and  letter  writing  to-morrow!  When  we  left 
London   for   this   place,    (a  horrible   lodging),    taken 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  59 

for  us  against  our  will  and  protestation,  by  an  en- 
thusiastic friend— an  apartment  with  no  bottom  (for 
carriages  were  under  it),  no  top  (for  the  roof  tiles 
were  over  it),  no  back  (for  there  was  an  end  to  the 
house  with  the  end  of  our  room),  and  a  front  facing 
the  due  east,  we  staid  two  months'  misery  out,  and  then 
carried  our  dead  and  wounded  to  this  pleasant  house, 
which,  not  quite  the  Vatican  in  itself,  seems  a  great 
catch  beside  the  other  abomination.  You  may  sup- 
pose there  was  no  charity  in  telling  you  this  till  we 
could  add  that  we  were  alive  and  out. 

Now  I  tell  you  and  moreover  that  we  both  of  us 
long  with  all  our  hearts  to  hear  as  much  news  of  your 
darling  self  as  you  can  and  will  put  into  a  letter. 
Of  course  all  this  while  we  have  heard  of  you  con- 
stantly or  else  we  would  have  known  the  reason  why. 
Isa  Blagden  always  lets  us  go  shares  in  her  tidings 
of  you  for  which  Miss  Hayes  was  mainly  to  thank, 
and  Miss  F.  loves  and  talks  about  you  incessantly; 
they  have  been  here  these  two  months.  Isa  arrived 
two  days  ago;  got  into  the  exact  sort  of  upstairs 
place  she  should  have  avoided,  and  is  abundantly  un- 
comfortable, which  is  the  more  provoking  that  she 
seems  to  have  brought  with  her  a  tolerable  stock  of 
health  and  strength,  which  will  be  spent  to  very  little 
purpose.  However,  we  must  try  and  help  to  brighten 
matters  for  her. 

Mrs.  Sartoris  is  here,  such  a  dear  creature,  as  3''ou 
well  know.  I  ought  to  see  her  about  every  other  day, 
if  my  laziness  did  not  stand  in  the  way;  and  when- 
ever I  go,  I  swear  I'll  never  miss  another  time,  but 
do  miss  times  and  times,  alas!  I'll  go  to-morrow  and 
tell  her  I've  written,  unless,  as  is  likely,  she  calls  this 
afternoon.  She  sings  and  talks  and  looks  and  is 
just  as  of  old,  and  so  good  that  is!  Your  pet  of  a 
daguerreotype  lies  on  her  table,  and  I  know  who  gets 
hold  of  it  and  keeps  it  as  long  as  he  sits  there! 


60  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Leighton  is  a  better  fellow  than  ever,  very  lovable, 
really.  He's  painting  a  very  fine  and  original  picture, 
life-size,  of  Orpheus  playing  Eurydice  out  of  hell, 
full  of  power  and  expression.  He  has  a  capital  Pan 
enjojang  himself  in  a  dell,  from  a  superb  Italian 
model  here,  (the  perfection  of  a  man,)  and  a  Venus, 
very  clever  too;  and  designs  for  perhaps  a  dozen 
delicious  pagan  figures;  a  sudden  taste  that  has  pos- 
sessed liim. 

I  don't  think  any  new  friend  of  mine  would  please 
you  like  Rosa  Bonheur,  who  is  a  glorious  little  crea- 
ture, with  a  touch  of  Hatty  about  her  that  makes  one 
start.  Oh,  Hatty,  why  were  you  not  here,  in  London 
first,  and  you  should  have  heard  Alfred  Tennyson 
read  "  Maud "  to  us,  and  Mrs.  Sartoris  sing  to 
Ruskin,  and  Carlyle  talk,  our  three  best  remem- 
brances. And  here  at  Paris  there  are  pictures  to  see, 
but  I  know  all  about  the  impossibility,  and  it  is  silly 
to  speak  of  it. 

Well,  won't  you  tell  us  what  you  have  done  and 
are  doing?  how  dear  Page  is,  and  what  he  paints 
now,  and  if  he  prospers  in  health  and  spirits?  and  of 
Gibson,  and  of  Rome  generally?  Do  you  know  we 
mean  to  try  hard  to  go  to  Rome  next  winter,  to 
repair  the  harm  done  at  the  bottomless  pit  of  the 
house  aforesaid?  And  Mrs.  Sartoris  was  sure  to  go, 
too,  till  the  night  before  last,  when  she  pleased  to 
feel  sure  she  should  not  go,  Sartoris  meaning  to  settle 
in  Paris — for  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  he  means  it, 
I  should  explain.  How  good  to  find  ourselves  all 
together  again!  But  then,  the  slips  'twixt  the  cups 
and  the  lips.  Anyhow,  here  is  a  word  to  you  that 
wants  a  word  in  return.  God  bless  you,  dearest 
Hatty.  Penini  is  well,  better  by  far  than  in  London. 
Ba  *  shall  put  in  a  word.     I  have  left  room  for  no 

*  Mrs.  Browning. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  61 

more.     For  me,  count  as  nothing  said,  of  all  that  I 
have  to  say,  except  that  I  am  affectionately  yours  ever, 

Robert  Browning. 


TO  MRS.  CARR. 

j^        ^^  Rome,  Mar.  11,  1856. 

I  meant  to  have  inundated  you  with  a  flood  of 
prose,  if  not  of  song,  but  have  not  been  able  to 
manage  it;  every  minute  seems  to  bring  with  it  some- 
thing that  imperiously  demands  attention,  and  I  have 
stayed  at  home  tliis  afternoon  instead  of  riding,  to 
scratch  even  this  miserable  line,  but  no  more  explana- 
tions. 

So  you  are  wading  through  Gibbon  and  Niebuhr, 

while    L is    wading    through    the    bogs    on    the 

prairies.  I  can  scarcely  fancy  you  leading  that  quiet 
sort  of  life,  almost  a  hermit's,  but  I  won't  say  any- 
thing to  disenchant  you  completely  with  it.  We  will 
make  up  for  it  when  you  get  to  Rome,  which  I  see 
written  in  the  book  of  Fate. 

I  scarcely  see  the  S's,  for  they  have  been  busy 
sight-seeing,  and  my  days  roll  away  either  in  the 
studio  or,  afterwards,  on  horseback,  and  in  the  evening 
it  is  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  go  where  I  am  invited. 
What  if  you  were  in  an  upright  posture,  on  your  feet, 
eight  hours  of  the  day!  For  my  part,  I  am  begin- 
ning to  doubt  if  my  skeleton  is  not  gradually  losing 
the  power  of  that  peculiar  action  in  a  certain  portion 
of  the  human  system  which  results  in  sitting  down, 
for  I  often  stand  from  breakfast  till  evening,  whereas 
no  power  on  earth  could  induce  me  to  sit  for  half  an 
hour!  It  is  quite  frightful  to  see  how  time  runs  on 
and  how  short  are  the  days  to  work  in.  As  you  are 
not  in  town,  I  can  only  send  my  kind  regards  to  the 


62  HARRIET  HOSMER 

grouse  and  the  bison.  I  wish  I  had  some  of  the 
former.  The  latter  I  will  leave  for  the  pleasure  of 
killing  when  I  come. 

Your  H. 

TO  THE  SAME. 

j^     ^  ^  Rome,  the  end  of  April,  1856. 

Of  course  you  think  me  a  creature  of  the  very 
blackest  dye,  but  I  reproach  myself  with  being  still 
more  ebony  than  you  could  ever  dream  of.  The 
truth  is,  I  have  been  waiting  to  enclose  you  a  photo 
of  what  I  have  been  doing.  The  forestieri  are  begin- 
ning to  scatter,  which  means  that  summer  is  coming. 
I  intend  going  into  France  this  year,  into  or  near 
the  Forest  of  Fontainebleau.  One  is  really  put  to  it 
to  know  what  to  do  with  one's  self.  You  feel  as  if 
you  would  like  to  give  yourself  into  the  hands  of  a 
Cojmnissionnaire,  be  boxed  up  and  put  out  of  the  way 
in  a  warehouse  till  claimed  by  the  rightful  owner. 

I  wrote  two  days  after  receiving  your  last  important 
bulletin  relative  to  my  chick  Hatty.*  I  should  have 
had  my  "  never  get  over  it,"  if  Miss  Cushman  had 
left  the  country  without  seeing  her,  and  I  am  dying 
to  hear  what  she  reports  of  her.  You  know  I  feel 
perfectly  responsible  for  everything  she  does  and  says, 
for  somehow  a  great  deal  of  my  dibbletiy  has  become 
incorporated  in  her  blessed  little  frame,  and  from 
my  own  experience  I  could  venture  to  predict  every- 
thing she  will  do  for  the  next  ten  years.  You  know 
my  history  pretty  well,  so  guard  against  my  snags, 
unless  you  hold,  as  I  do,  that  when  there  is  a  certain 
quantity  of  steam  to  be  let  off,  it  is  charity  and  policy 
to  afford  it  a  vent.  I  go  on  the  principle  of  letting 
young  ones  do  pretty  much  as  they  like.    I  am  sure  it 

*  Her  godchild,  then  two  years  old. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  63 

is  better  for  them  in  the  end,  and  I  know  it  is  much 
pleasanter;  that  was  the  system  on  which  I  was 
brought  up,  and  the  result  is, — what  you  see!  Get 
me  out  her  picture  as  soon  as  you  can.  I  don't  mind 
the  loss  of  the  feet.  I  shouldn't  mind  even  the  loss 
of  the  legs.  I  want  the  impertinent,  darling  little 
face  and  the  curly  wig.  .  .  . 

Do  you  really  tliink  that  a  shred  of  vanity  can 
exist  in  me,  after  viewing  those  last  productions  wliich 
you  sent  me  of  lithographic  art?  Shade  of  my  grand- 
mother! (who  was,  I  believe,  a  very  good-looking 
woman).  The  first  I  thought  not  flattering,  but  this! 
I  should  say  it  was  enough  to  make  even  you  for- 
swear my  society,  not  to  mention  sisterhood.  I  keep 
it,  religiously,  on  the  same  principle  that  the  Emperor 
had  the  melancholy  fact  whispered  in  his  ear,  only 
with  a  slight  modification,  "  Remember  thou  art  but 
a  fright!" 

Your  H. 


MR.  AND  MRS.  BROWNING  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Paris,  3  Rue  du  Colisee^  ]March  27,  '56. 

Dearest  Hattie: 

Here  is  going  to  be  another  great  break  and  long 
silence  between  us  three,  if  we  two  don't  take  care.  I 
should  like  to  write  to-day,  and  I  will.  We  got  your 
duck  of  a  note  duly  about  six  weeks  ago,  then 
news  of  you  from  Isa,  then  a  little  more  news 
from  the  same,  and  now  it  is  time  for  a  cupful  of 
water  from  the  spring-head.  We  were  vexed  about 
that  Isa,  that  she  could  not  contrive  somehow,  manage 
in  some  way,  that  capital  little  Roman  scheme  that 
you  proposed ;  but  her  heart  was  all  of  a  tremble  about 
Spanish  plans  and  Florentine  projects.  Do  try  her 
again,   for  the  commotion  has  subsided  in  many  re- 


64  HARRIET  HOSMER 

spects;  she  at  last  gives  way  to  our  mild  scoldings  and 
renounces  that  foolish  and  indeed  dangerous  journey 
to  Madrid.  For  which  we  promised  her  a  knee  that 
will  work  without  pulleys  from  the  bed-top,  and  other 
delights  that  she  was  bringing  on  herself.  She  now 
means  to  go  straight  to  Florence,  and  there  set  up 
a  \dlla,  and  then  what  better  can  she  do  than  go  to 
Rome  in  the  winter,  as  we  hope  to  do.  If  your 
schemes  have  worked  themselves  any  clearer,  therefore, 
try  them  on  her.  She  is  quite  her  old  self  now,  able 
to  see  and  be  seen. 

Now  what  shall  I  tell  you  of  Mrs.  Sartoris?  This 
week's  state  of  her  mind  is  pretty  likely  to  differ 
altogether  from  next  week's,  as  I  conjecture  from 
past  experience.  First,  then,  she  means  that  he  won't 
go  to  Rome,  but  will  settle  here;  take  a  house  and 
furnish  it;  that  will  lead  eventually  to  his  getting  tired 
of  furniture  and  house,  and  beginning  his  travels 
again.  What  they  do,  Leighton  will  do;  but  we 
others  have  had  enough  of  civilization,  and  want  the 
Campagna.  Not  but  what  the  weather  has  been,  and 
is,  while  I  write,  very  nearly  Italian;  mild  at  worst 
and  sunny  and  surprising  very  often. 

Pray,  Hattie,  what  shall  you  do  in  the  summer 
that  is  coming  so  fast?  Any  chance  of  your  going 
to  Paris  or  London  this  year,  as  we  hoped  about  last 
year?  We  shall  stay  till  the  end  of  June,  then  be  in 
London  till  autumn,  and  then  one  fine  November 
morning  somebody  will  jump  up  the  little  stairs 
three  at  a  time,  do  a  deal  of  damage  to  some  plaster 
casts  on  the  way,  and  then,  having  first  put  on  his 
gloves,  request  permission  to  touch  the  tips  of  your 
fingers.  Meanwhile  there's  a  good  deal  to  do,  how- 
ever. 

I  told  you  Ba  had  felt  the  cold  sadly  in  those 
abominable  rooms  that  we  got  shut  on  us  for  our 
sins.     Since  moving  to  this  place  all  that  was  wrong, 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  65 

seems  set  right  again,  and  she  has  worked  like  a 
spirit  at  her  poem.*  I  have  read  the  first  six  books, 
all  transcribed  and  corrected  in  two  months.  Lord!  I 
don't  dare  say,  in  cold  words,  what  I  cannot  help 
thinking  of  them;  while  warm  words  are  not  proper, 
you  know.  At  all  events,  the  poem  is  quite  new  and 
unlike  anything  she  has  hitherto  done ;  two  more  books 
are  growing  to  completion,  by  daily  work  to  the 
amount  of  something  like  thirty  or  forty  hues.  When 
all's  done,  it's  to  print  in  London,  print  in  America 
simultaneously,  put  out  of  the  nest  and  set  flying 
and  earning  its  own  livelihood,  and  then,  off  to  some- 
thing else,  somewhere  else.  That's  the  way  with  us 
noble  poets  whether  in  words  or  lines,  poetry  or 
plaster,  isn't  it?  I'll  tell  you  true  about  myself,  that 
your  people  have  been  very  kind  and  indulgent  to  my 
own  things,  and  that  there  is  great  success  for  the 
bookseller,  if  I  may  believe  reports  which  bookseller 
has  my  best  wishes,  having  behaved  capitally. 

I  can  hear  nothing  certain  about  Page's  pictures, 
as  to  their  completion  and  destination.  You  know  he 
meant  to  send  the  Venus  and  another  work  to  Lon- 
don, did  he  not?  Are  they  gone?  Nothing  sent  in 
after  the  first  Monday  in  April  will  be  admitted.  I 
have  given  the  proper  orders  about  sending  the  por- 
trait and  can  only  trust  that  they  will  put  it  in  a 
good  place.  My  wife  wrote  a  letter  to  an  influential 
personage  (hem!),  whose  name,  etc.,  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  particularize  (hem,  hem!) — not,  of  course, 
demeaning  herself  crookedly,  but  honestly  calling 
attention  to  what  might  miss  its  due  attention  in  the 
throng  of  the  thousands  and  the  result  is  particularly 
satisfactory.  We  are  told  the  Academy  always  strains 
a  point  to  do  homage  to  the  work  of  a  stranger,  but 
Mr.  Page's  work  can  have  nothing  to  fear.     All  we 

♦"Aurora  Leigh." 


66  HARRIET  HOSMER 

can  do   (and  so  little)    is  done,  and  I  hope  and  be- 
lieve that  the  portrait  *  will  do  the  rest  for  itself. 

There  will  be  a  portrait  of  Dickens  exhibited  by 
Ary  Scheffer.  Leighton's  picture  is  done,  and  ex- 
pedited; and  he  waits  the  results  with  anxiety  enough, 
so  do  we  all.  There  is  great  merit  in  it,  the  expres- 
sions are  true,  the  composition  simple,  the  background 
good,  and  the  whole  one  consistent  anachronism;  a 
purely  modern  picture,  without  a  touch  of  the  antique- 
real,  or  antique-conventional.  The  modern  violin  is 
no  more  a  surprise  than  the  modern  faces  and  figures. 
But  I  breathe  into  your  ear  that  I  doubt  whether 
folks  won't  cry  out  for  more  than  this  truth  of  expres- 
sion, and  ask  for  the  poetry  of  this  grand  old  subject: 
God  Pluto,  Goddess  Proserpine,  Half-God  Orpheus, 
and  half-woman  Efurydice.  .  .  .  He  certainly  has  not 
finished  the  details  as  completely  as  I  expected;  there 
is  evidence  of  great  study  in  portions,  no  doubt;  the 
knee  of  Orpheus  could  hardly  be  better  modelled,  and 
his  aiTii  (right  arm)  is  covered  with  the  drapery  to 
heart's  content;  but  the  careless  part  seems  to  me  in 
the  figure  of  the  Proserpine  (right  arm  good,  though) 
and  her  drapery  (from  the  waist  down),  not  effective 
in  color  or  foldings.  Observe,  all  the  faces  are  capi- 
tally true,  and  if  you  will  take  the  four  heads  in  a 
line,  and  arms  too,  if  you  please,  for  the  picture,  you 
get  a  striking  one. 

Leighton  has  been  drawing  deliciously;  he  may 
make  admirable  pictures  out  of  some  ten  or  fifteen 
that  lie  there — and  he  is  finishing  a  couple  of  half 
life-size,  charming  paintings.  The  one  I  told  you  of, 
a  fine  fellow  treating  liimself  to  figs,  while  he  has 
grapes  and  gourds  about  his  feet,  down  in  a  dell, 
with  blue  Italian  scenery  over  his  head;  a  finished 
study  from  the  miracle  of  a  model  he  has  got,  but 
properly  idealized.      The   other  is   the   Venus,   which, 

♦  Of  Robert  Browning. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  67 

save  that  one  bit  is  exaggerated  in  the  action,  I  think, 
will  come  out  well  too,  in  the  end.  There's  a  Diver 
or  Fisher,  j)ulled  down  by  a  Siren,  which  is  exquisite 
in  the  sketch — so  now  let's  all  wish  him  what's  best 
for  him. 

I  am  much  interested  by  accounts  I  get  from 
Rome  from  time  to  time  of  Mr.  Gibson's  Pandora. 
Tell  us  all  about  it,  j'-ou  Hatty:  and  tell  us  exactly 
how  your  own  statue  progresses, — and  what  else  you 
have  done  or  think  to  do.  What  is  this  we  were 
amused  with  about  theatricals?  I'll  engage  you 
played  famously.  Don't  I  envy  Lyons  now?  He  is 
here  till  Lord  Clarendon  can  find  time  to  start  him 
off,  and  then  he'll  be  in  the  very  Rome.  He  called 
here  two  days  ago,  and  spent  an  evening  last  week 
with  Mrs.  Sartoris  and  Leighton.  Was  not  that  like 
an  old  thing  come  about  again? 

Next  tell  me  a  matter:  do  you  happen  to  know,  or 
to  have  seen,  a  young  lady,  with  a  mother  to  her, 
called  "  Ironmonger,"  an  Australian  bent  on  studying 
painting  in  Rome,  who  made  a  memorable  transit 
thro'  this  place  at  the  end  of  last  year;  memorable, 
I  mean,  for  her  enthusiasm  and  wild  ways?  She  had 
a  letter  for  Mr.  Gibson,  she  said, — how  has  it  all 
turned  out? 

Now  I  shall  leave  off  and  make  Ba  do  the  rest,  I 
generally  push  her  into  a  mere  corner,  and  you  don't 
thank  me  for  that.  I  ought  to  have  put  more  interest 
in  this  quantity  of  writing,  that's  certain;  but  writing's 
a  bad  business  at  the  best.  Will  you  please  to  answer 
this  at  once,  not  leaving  out  one  particularity  about 
yourself — in  short,  be  so  good  as  to  shabby-abbyize  for 
our  profit  and  delight.  Your  early  Easter  season, 
that's  over,  will  leave  you  leisure,  won't  it?  We  are  in 
a  crowd  here,  diplomatic  and  great  people  are  like 
blackberries,  and  next  week  you  shall  see  what  you 


68  HARRIET  HOSMER 

shall  see;  but  not  one  word  more,  lest  I  break  irresis- 
tibly in  upon  Ba  and  the  lace  wrappings,  and  you  go 
mad  that  j^ou  can't  see  them.  Good-by,  dearest 
Hatty,  with  the  loving  embrace  of 

Yours 

Robert  Browning. 


MRS.  BROWNING  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

What  can  I  say  after  Robert?  He  will  have 
emptied  Paris  of  all  the  news  you  will  care  to  hear, 
dearest  Hatty.  Let  me  say  at  least  that  we  want, 
both  of  us,  to  have  news  from  you;  write,  dear,  make 
us  glad.  Here's  my  plan  for  you  after  Robert's. 
Come  to  the  north  this  summer  and  spend  it  with 
us  in  England — and  then  let  us  all  travel  south  and 
to  Rome  in  the  autumn — then,  too,  we  shall  be  able  to 
plot  and  secure  Isa.  You  know  I  am  against  all 
schemes  for  settling  her  in  Rome,  because  any  con- 
tinuance in  that  place  would  be  bad  for  her  I  feel 
obstinately  sure,  but  she  might  go  for  a  winter,  and 
would  perhaps,  if  we  all  together  took  to  pulling 
and  hauling  her,  a  long  pull,  a  strong  pull,  and  a  pull 
all  together,  yo  'ho!  Lend  a  hand  Hatty!  And  now 
that  I  am  a  sailor  I  feel  inclined  to  a  fit  of  swearing 
against  Robert's  paper — did  ever  man  in  liis  senses 
and  with  any  degree  of  conjugal  consideration  select 
such  paper?    D testable! 

With  Clichy  on  one  side,  the  Diligences  on  the 
other,  and  a  sprinkling  of  brigands  up  and  down,  we 
have  persuaded  Isa  against  Madrid  finally.  Now  it 
is  your  turn,  try  for  Rome. 

Give  my  love  to  Mr.  Page  when  you  see  him.  We 
have  launched  his  picture  on  the  London  Academy, 
and  I  do  trust  a  good  wind  will  take  it.  I  long  for 
the  Venus,  is  it  finished?    And  if  so  why  does  he  not 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  69 

send  it?  Shan't  we  see  works  on  works  of  your  own, 
dear  Hatty,  when  we  come  to  Rome  to  catch  you? 
Really  we  are  planning  for  Rome  next  winter.  Do 
you  think  of  London  meantime  for  the  love  of  us. 

Penini  is  reading  French  and  talking  it  and  not 
forgetting  his  Italian.  He  is  as  great  a  darling  as 
ever,  in  my  mind. 

Your  ever  affectionate 

Fi.  R.  R. 

Our  best  regards  to  Mr.  Gibson. 

The  following  letter  is  one  of  the  few  descriptive  of 
the  artist: 

MISS  HAYES  TO  MRS.  CARR. 

Rome,  April,   1856. 

Hatty  is  such  a  bad  correspondent,  in  personal  mat- 
ters, dear  friend  of  hers,  that  I  am  sure  you  will 
thank  me  for  a  few  lines  telling  you  how  she  looks 
and  is.  To  begin,  she  has  added  an  inch  or  so  to  her 
height,  of  which,  between  ourselves,  she  is  very  proud; 
and  more  than  an  inch  considerably  in  circumference, 
though  she  has  developed  a  charming  little  waist  and 
figure.  Her  short  hair,  which  you  will  find  con- 
siderably darker  in  color,  suits  her  admirably,  and 
she  is,  in  dress,  neatness  itself,  her  party  wardrobe 
elegant  and  tasteful.  So  much  for  externals.  Retter 
than  all,  she  is  the  same  frank,  unaffected  darling  as 
in  old  times.  Her  spirits  more  boisterous  and  sus- 
tained than  ever;  in  fact,  she  is  the  happiest  human 
being  that  I  know,  and  thinks  herself  so. 

Her  progress  in  art  is  wonderful.  It  is  long  since 
modern  Rome  has  produced  so  beautiful  a  statue  as 
the  Cenci ;  beautiful  in  conception  and  execution.  The 
social  position  of  our  dear  little  friend  is  admirable. 


70  HARRIET  HOSMER 

She  is  universal^  respected,  and  where  known,  loved, 
and  she  has  surmounted  all  the  difficulties  of  her  posi- 
tion as  woman  and  artist,  nobly,  by  the  simple  earnest- 
ness of  her  nature  and  life.  It  is  a  great  joy  to  me  to 
find  her  where  she  is,  after  our  three  years'  separa- 
tion. .  .  . 

Sincerely  3^ours 

Matilda  M.  Hayes. 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 

y-v        ^  RoME^  June  30,  1856. 

I  am  giving  you  a  parting  salute  from  Rome,  as  I 
am  off  to-morrow  for  a  tour  of  which  I  am  not  quite 
sure  what  the  iniddle  or  the  end  is  to  be.  The  only 
certain  thing  is  the  beginning,  which  is  Leghorn,  for 
a  couple  of  weeks.  I  want  particularly  to  write  you 
now,  to  send  the  photographs  of  the  bassi-relievi  I 
have  just  finished.  One  is  "  Night  and  the  Rising  of 
the  Stars,"  and  the  other  is  "  Phosphor  and  Hesper," 
which  your  early  mythological  researches  will  remind 
you  are  the  stars  of  the  Morning  and  the  Evening. 
Next  winter  I  am  going  to  model  the  pendant  to  the 
first,  which  will  be  "  Morning  and  the  Setting  of  the 
Stars."  You  see  I  have  been  on  a  starring  engage- 
ment this  winter!  .  .  . 

At  this  moment  while  I  am  writing,  the  grand 
fire-works  of  St.  Peter's  Day  are  shooting  and  burst- 
ing round  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  and  I  am  not  taking 
the  trouble  even  to  put  my  head  out  of  window  to 
see  them.  Then  on  the  other  hand  our  house  being 
situated  obliquely  between  the  two  I  have  merely 
to  look  up  and  I  see  before  me  the  Dome  of  St. 
Peter's,  illuminated.  Last  night  the  whole  was  il- 
lumined, and  to-night  too  it  has  been  very  beautiful. 
I  am  thinking  how  many  thousands  of  people  would 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  71 

give  their  eyes  if  they  could  only  be  in  my  place  for 
a  few  minutes.  .  .  . 

The  last  joke  I  have  heard,  vi^hich  came  to  Miss 
Cushman's  ears,  was  this.  A  party  here  from  New 
York  who  had  something  to  do  with  Mr.  Gibson's 
group  of  the  Cacciatore,  as  it  is  always  called,  and 
having  seen  the  name  either  in  writing  or  in  print, 
but  probably  never  having  heard  it  pronounced,  said 
"That  group,  you  know,  of  Mr.  Gibson's;  I  think 
they  call  it  the  Cockatoo! "... 

Mrs.  Kemble,  then  is  in  Lenox  with  Sarah,  and  en- 
chanting the  girls  just  as  we  used  to  be  enchanted. 
Oh,  how  those  days  come  back  to  me;  but  they  seem 
like  a  dream.  My  life  is  so  unlike  what  it  was  then. 
I  think  and  feel  so  differently  that  it  seems  to  me  I 
must  have  left  my  former  body  and  found  another. 
With  you,  the  change  is  not  so  great.  You  are  still 
in  the  atmosphere  of  home,  still  see  the  familiar  faces 
to  which  you  have  been  accustomed  from  childhood; 
at  least  you  hear  your  mother  tongue  spoken  around 
you,  and  have  not  forced  your  ear  to  hear,  nor  your 
lips  to  utter,  strange  sounds.  .  .  .  These  changes 
make  me  feel  twenty  years  older,  and  it  is  not  unlikely 
that  my  hair  may  be  quite  bleached  before  the  month 
of  next  July,  when,  God  willing,  we  shall  meet. 

Somewhere  on  the  ocean,  my  daughter  Q^none  is 
now  probably  very  seasick.  If  you  do  not  experience 
the  same  sensation  when  j'ou  see  her,  I  shall  be  con- 
tent. Sooner  or  later  she  will  appear  to  you  in  St. 
Louis,  and  I  can  only  say  I  wish  she  were  more 
worthy  of  those  who  are  to  adopt  her.  .  .  . 

Your  H. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

My  dear  Mr.  Crow:  Albano,  Sept.,  1856. 

...  So  changes  are  taking  place  across  the  ocean! 
Here  time  and  fortune  wag  on  in  the  old  way,  and 


72  HARRIET  HOSMER 

I  wish  they  would  go  a  httle  faster,  the  latter,  I 
mean,  not  the  former.  If  she  does  not  smile  more 
sweetly  pretty  soon,  than  she  has  done  for  the  last 
year  and  a  half,  I  suspect  that  nine-tenths  of  the 
artists  will  open  glove  shops,  or  tobacco  stalls,  or 
something  else,  not  for  bread  and  butter,  but  for 
bread  alone,  without  the  butter.  Artists  like  Mr. 
Gibson,  Teneranni,  and  Crawford,  who  have  been 
through  the  mill,  may  snap  their  fingers,  they  are 
always  busy,  but  for  the  younger  ones,  who  are 
struggling  upward,  nothing  is  left  in  the  present 
time  but  to  growl  and  groan. 

Has  the  statue  arrived?  The  figure  represents 
Q^none  abandoned  by  Paris,  and  all  I  can  say  is, 
that  I  wish  it  were  a  thousand  times  better  than  it  is, 
and  the  best  excuse  I  have  for  its  shortcomings  is, 
that  it  is  the  first  one  I  ever  made.  I  hope  you  will 
see  another  of  mine,  going  to  ISlr.  Hooper,  in  Boston, 
representing  Puck.  I  think  I  may  say  that  I  have 
beaten  both,  in  a  statue  which  you  will  see  next 
summer,  God  willing,  which  belongs  to  Mr.  V.  and 
which  I  take  great  pleasure  in  thinking  is  destined 
for  the  library  in  your  city.*  Sir  Charles  Eastlake 
was  in  Rome  a  few  days  ago,  and  he  says  I  must  be 
sure  and  send  it  to  the  Royal  Academy  Exhibition 
and  he  will  have  it  well  placed.  He  is  the  President 
of  the  Academy,  you  know,  so  his  influence  will  be 
potent.  He  said  some  very  nice  things  to  me,  words 
of  real  encouragement.  The  exhibition  is  to  open 
the  first  of  May,  so  I  shall  send  it  there  from  Rome, 
and  pick  it  up  on  my  way  home.  Mr.  Hall  is  having 
it  engraved  for  the  London  Art  Journal  from  a  draw- 
ing made  of  the  cast,  by  Guglielani  and  which  Mr. 
Gibson  took  with  him  to  England.  These  things  I 
tell  you,  not  from  any  feeling  of  vanity  or  self-satis- 
faction, because  I  am  utterly  disgusted  with  myself, 

*  Beatrice  Cenci. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  73 

but  because  it  may  please  you  to  know  that  such  a 
man  as  Sir  Charles  Eastlake  finds  something  in  my 
work  of  which  to  approve,  and  as  I  am  your  yrotegee 
I  hke  to  have  you  know,  better  than  anybody  else, 
how  I  am  progressing.  .  .  . 

Now,  dear  Mr.  Crow,  I  am  going  to  give  you  one 
more  proof  that  I  do  consider  myself  your  protegee  in 
every  sense  of  the  word,  and  am  going  to  avail  myself 
of  your  paternal  kindness  evinced  last  summer  when 
you  sent  me  that  letter  of  credit,  half  of  which  I  have 
drawn,  and  if  not  inconvenient  to  you,  I  should  like 
to  swell  the  long  list  of  favors  already  received  at 
your  hands,  by  drawing  for  the  remaining  half  about 
the  first  of  October.  I  have  bills  coming  due  for 
marble,  and  without  this  godsend  I  scarcely  know 
how  to  meet  them.  ...  I  never  can  return  (because 
you  do  not  need  it)  the  kindness  and  encouragement 
you  have  showered  upon  me,  but  which  I  must  hope 
will  not,  in  the  end,  have  been  in  vain.  Are  not  some 
of  yours  coming  to  Italy?  Cannot  you  give  me  some- 
thing to  do  for  you?  Command  me,  for  I  belong  to 
you  more  than  to  anybody  else. 

You  may  report  this  letter  to  my  father  if  you 
like,  but  I  just  as  lief  you  would  put  it  in  the  fire. 
Do  write  me;  it  is  a  blessing  to  see  your  handwriting. 

Yours,  H. 

This  letter  was  to  an  old  friend  in  Scotland. 

TO  MISS  DUNDAS. 

Albano,  Sunday,  Sept.  27,  (1856). 

Days  and  weeks  have  rolled  by  since  we  met,  my 

A ,  and  they  seem  years.    Alas!  there  is  no  magic 

ground  in  this  world  where  we  can  summon  before 
us  the  forms  of  absent  friends,  and  no  enchantress 
to  help  us  but  the  one  of  haj^py  memories.    Alas!  too, 


74  HARRIET  HOSMER 

being  in  the  flesh,  we  are  denied  the  comfort  of  ghostly 
communication,  and  if  you  could  see  in  what  a  veil  of 
very  distinct  anatomy  my  spiritual  woman  is  shrouded, 
you  would  despair  of  ever  hearing  from  me  except  in 
the  most  material  way.  Such  being  the  case  I  sit 
down  to  tell  you  in  sound  English  what  a  puss  you 
have  been  to  write  me  those  two  letters,  and  the  only 
fault  is,  that  there  wasn't  enough  of  either  of  them. 
Having  followed  you  to  Naples,  to  Paris,  and  to 
London,  you  are  now  safely  and  snugly  ensconced  in 
your  own  dear  nest,  from  which  you  must  flutter  out 
very  often  and  give  me  a  song  on  paper. 

Nor  have  I  been  quiet  either,  while  you  have  been 
on  the  wing,  but  have  ridden  to  Florence  by  moon- 
light at  the  rate  of  fifty  miles  a  night.  Nothing  was 
ever  so  fine  as  that  journey.  The  entrance  to  Nepi, 
with  its  old  towers  and  broken  arches,  the  descent  to 
the  lake  of  Thrasimene,  the  climbing  of  the  hill  to 
Perugia,  and  the  arrival  at  five  in  the  morning  at 
Florence,  are  all  things  to  be  set  down  in  one's  golden 
book.  I  remember  particularly,  too,  the  battleground 
of  Hannibal,  over  which  we  rode  at  one  o'clock  on 
the  loveliest  night  that  was  ever  visited  upon  earth. 
In  the  silence  and  ghostliness  of  the  hour,  I  could 
not  help  fancying  I  heard,  above  the  clattering  of 
our  horses'  feet,  the  rushing  and  neighing  of  steeds, 
the  clashing  of  spears,  and  the  shouts  of  the  van- 
quished and  conquering  armies,  but  for  two  thousand 
years  nature  has  been  reclaiming  her  own  and  seems 
to  have  exhausted  herself  in  making  it  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  spots  in  her  kingdom,  as  if  in  a  gener- 
ous, forgiving  spirit  toward  that  humanity  by  which 
she  was  profaned.  The  ground  was  covered  with 
fresh  young  vines  and  bright  red  poppies  sown  by 
some  friendly  Morpheus,  perhaps,  to  make  her  forget 
in  a  long  summer  sleep  the  wrongs  she  had  endured, 
and  over  all,  the  great,  quiet  moon,  like  a  loving  and 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  75 

pitying  mother,  watched  as  tenderly  and  as  patiently 

as  she  did  ages  and  ages  ago.     Oh!  my  A ,  how 

enchanted  you  would  have  been.  There  never  was  a 
more  silent  journey,  for  it  was  too  beautiful  to  talk 
about.  We  wanted  all  our  forces  to  think  and  to 
look,  but  thinking  and  looking  were  done  to  perfec- 
tion. We  came  back  by  riding  early  in  the  morning 
and  late  in  the  evening,  having  made  the  three  hun- 
dred and  sixty  miles  in  seven  and  a  half  days. 

So  you  did  not  like  Naples,  nor  I  either.  If  I 
were  doomed  to  live  there,  I  should  be  a  raving 
maniac  at  the  end  of  the  third  day.  I  am  so  glad,  too, 
that  you  don't  like  the  Hercules.*  For  my  part,  I 
see  in  him  neither  spirit,  nor  grace,  nor  beauty,  but 
see  that  if  it  were  not  for  the  club  on  which  he  rests, 
he  would  tumble  down  from  liis  own  weight,  and  that 
if  he  were  starving,  he  wouldn't  have  energy  enough 
to  eat  those  three  apples  he  holds  in  his  hand.  To  me, 
his  hugeness  is  not  grandeur,  nor  is  his  repose  dignity, 
and  if  I  had  to  pass  judgment  on  the  statue,  I  should 
say  it  was  modelled  on  the  principle  of  the  Fat  Boy 
in  Pickwick,  only  doubly  fat  and  trebly  sleepy.  But 
how  different  is  that  divine  Mercury  in  Florence!  I 
never  admired  it  so  much  as  now.  There  is  nothing 
gross  or  earthly  in  his  composition;  bones  and  muscles 
never  suggest  themselves,  and  nothing  suggests  itself 
but  a  God-like  will  and  a  God-like  power  to  perform. 
When  I  see  the  Hercules,  I  feel  like  a  washerwoman 
and  want  my  tub,  but  when  I  see  the  Mercury,  I  feel 
something  more  than  mortal  and  want  my  wings.  To 
my  notion  a  statue  that  revives  our  recollections  of 
the  dissecting  room,  before  it  arouses  our  human 
sympathies,  is  as  unnatural  a  production  as  a  flower 
would  be,  which  would  suggest  the  hoe  and  the  spade 
before  it  asserted  its  own  divine  right  of  beauty  and 
infinite  perfection. 

*The  Farnese  Hercules  in  the  Museo  Borbonico. 


76  HARRIET  HOSMER 

So,  you  happy  girl,  you  have  seen  our  dear,  quiet, 
gentle  friend  *  in  her  own  sanctum,  nearer  the  blue  sky, 
you  say,  than  most  people,  and  nearer  Heaven,  I  say, 
than  manJ^  I  am  not  surprised  that  "  the  very  air 
seems  still  and  calm  about  her,"  because  she  is  stillness 
and  calmness  personified.  There,  she  must  be  in  her 
element,  with  her  flowers  and  her  books  and  pictures 
around  her.  I  never  can  fancy  her  in  a  bustle,  or  in 
a  busy  crowd,  any  more  than  I  could  fancy  the  Night- 
blooming  Cereus  to  blossom  in  the  Piazza  Navona, 
and  our  dear  gentle  friend  is  indeed  closely  allied  to 
that  same  flower,  seeming  more  lovable  and  pure  by 
contrast  with  the  dark  world  around  her. 

Yesterday  I  went  into  Rome  to  have  photographs 
taken  of  my  son  and  daughter ;  f  the  latter  was  suc- 
cessful, the  former  only  partly  so,  and  we  must  try 
again.  Master  Puck's  god-mother,  you  know,  is  to 
be  that  dear  Mrs.  Emily,  to  whom  I  am  going  to  send 
the  portraits  of  her  devil-born  god-child  as  soon 
as  they  can  be  printed.  I  shall  send,  too,  the 
ffinone,  which  you  must  dispose  of  as  you  like 
best. 

By  the  way,  I  have  found  a  famous  block  of  marble 
for  the  Cenci,  and  she  is  progressing  in  that  material. 
I  made  several  changes  in  her  after  you  went  away, 
for  instance  gave  her  a  vast  quantity  more  hair,  put- 
ting veiy  sizable  locks  over  the  raised  shoulder,  made 
a  cushion  of  the  upper  stone  (which  was  a  great 
improvement),  and  put  on  (I'm  sure  you  will  say, 
"Oh!  horror!")  a  slipper!!!  Perhaps  you  would  be 
shocked  if  you  saw  that  slipper,  perhaps  pleased;  for 
my  part,  I  liked  it  because  it  was  more  in  costume, 
and  from  the  arrangement  of  drapery  I  was  afraid 
it  might  look  like  an  affectation  of  the  antique  unless 
I  had  something  to  modernize  it  a  bit.     Little  Miss 

*  Mrs.  Browning.  f  Puck  and  (Enone. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  77 

W said  the  prettiest  thing  about  my  child,  and 

hence  I  am  greatly  in  love  with  her.  They  made 
us  a  visit  one  day,  and  her  sister  said,  "  How 
well  she  sleeps."  "  No,"  said  she,  "  How  well  she 
dreams." 

I  had  a  dear  letter  from  Mrs.  Sartoris  a  few  days 
ago.  She  speaks  of  Leighton's  picture  as  "  a  tre- 
mendous failure."  I  sympathize  with  Fay,*  certainly, 
and  am  very  sorry  for  his  disappointment,  but  the 
consequences  of  all  this  criticism  and  censure  will  be 
a  capital  picture  next  year. 

Here  I  am  on  the  last  and  eighth  page,  and  what 
have  I  written?  Nothing  in  a  great  deal.  I  begin  to 
think  myself  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  Queen  of  the 
Cannibals,  whose  husband  was  forced  to  devour  her, 
to  make  her  keep  silence.  Were  I  a  mathematical 
genius  like  your  dear  self,  I  would  find  out  the  pro- 
portion of  sense  to  nonsense  in  this  letter,  by  dividing 
it  rectangularly  and  obliquely  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Piazza  Colonna.  As  I  am  not,  I  shall  confide  to 
Bessie  the  task  of  ascertaining,  because  she  nobly  con- 
fessed that  her  talent  did  not  point  in  that  direction 
and  I  am  clever  enough  to  take  advantage  of  the  cir- 
cumstance. 

Alas!  no  more  of  those  cosey  Sunday  evenings.  I 
ma}^  see  the  room  again,!'  the  self-same  room,  but  not 
those  same  dear  faces  in  it,  wliich  made  it  what  it  was 
to  me,  and  I  may  perhaps  be  welcomed  there  again 
by  kind  voices,  but  not  by  the  kinder  voices  of  that 
dear  mother  of  yours,  nor  of  that  loving  and  lovable 
Mrs.  Emily,  nor  of  that  gentle,  sisterly  Bessie,  nor 
by  the  stern  imperious  voice  of  my  Annie.  These 
have  been,  but  are  not,  though  we  must  hope  will  yet 

*  Frederick  Leighton,  afterwards  Lord  Leighton,  President  of  the   Royal 
Academy. 

f  At  54  Via  Sistina. 


78  HARRIET  IIOSMER 

be,  and  so,  being  grateful  for  the  past  and  loving  in 
the  present  and  hoping  in  the  future,  and  with  as 
many  kisses  to  all,  as  there  have  been  little  fairy  feet 
dancing  over  these  ferns,*  hold  me  ever  thy 

Hat. 

Another  busy  winter  followed,  of  which  Miss  Hos- 
mer  writes: 

r,        i\r     /-I  Rome,  Feb.  15,  1857. 

Dear  3Ir.  Crom:  '  ' 

I  hasten  to  reply  as  well  as  I  can  to  yours,  for  I 
confess  honestly  I  scarcely  know  how.  I  am  not 
very  skilful  in  expressing  on  paper  what  I  feel  in  my 
heart.  Words  are  cold  and  formal  things.  .  .  .  But 
for  you,  I  should  not  be  in  Italy  now,  and  that  is  as 
much  as  saying  I  never  should  have  been  an  artist. 
You  are  princely  to  me,  dear  Mr.  Crow,  in  more  ways 
than  one,  and  not  the  least  pleasing  of  the  royal  spirit 
j^ou  show  towards  me  is  your  undoubting  confidence 
in  my  eventual  success.  It  is  heart's  blood  to  me,  to 
have  you  speak  so  confidently  of  my  future,  and  in- 
spires me  with  heart  enough  to  contend  with  twice  the 
quantity  and  quality  of  obstacles  which  beset  Hercules, 
and  so  help  me  Heaven!  I  would  work  my  fin- 
gers off,  rather  than  disappoint  the  hopes  you  re- 
pose in  me,  or  that  I  should  not  manifest  in  a 
visible  and  actual  way  my  appreciation  of  all  your 
kindness. 

As  the  Yankees  say,  "  Statuary  has  riz  "  with  me, 
and  I  have  as  much  as  I  can  do,  and  it  pleases  me  to 
the  backbone,  to  be  able  to  tell  you  that  I  have  had 
a  jolly  winter.  First  and  foremost  an  order  from 
an  English  gentleman  for  a  bust,  and  an  order  from 
Mr.  Clift  of  New  York  for  a  copy  of  Puck.  Then 
one  from  Miss  Cushman  for  another  copy  of  the 
same.      Then    an    order    for    two    large    bassi-relievi. 

*  Referring  to  the  sprays  of  maidenhair  fern  enclosed. 


PUCK 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  79 

Then  another  for  two  portrait  medallions  of  the 
Ladies  Constance  and  Adelaide  Talbot,  which  I  shall 
begin  on  Monday  next.  And  I  may  have  an  order 
for  a  small  copy  of  the  Cenci.  I  enclose  to  you  a 
photograph  of  the  last  mentioned  lady  and  one  of  my 
son  Puck.* 

The  Cenci  is  packed  and  sent  away,  and  arrives 
this  night  at  Civita  Vecchia,  from  which  place  it  will 
be  shipped  to  Southampton.  Mr.  Gibson  has  written 
to  Sir  Charles  Eastlake  to  secure  for  it  a  good  place 
in  the  exhibition  (which  he  had  already  promised  to 
do),  and  somebody  has  said  a  good  word  for  it  over 
the  Channel,  for  Ladj^  Waterford,  who  is  an  oracle 
upon  art  in  London,  has  written  for  a  photograph  of 
it.  She  has  set  out  on  her  journey  under  favorable 
auspices,  and  now  we  must  wait  the  result  of  her 
exhibition.  I  am  not  afraid  to  say  that  it  beats  the 
CEnone,  which  I  wish  were  better,  for  your  sake. 

Well,  I  have  talked  enough  about  self,  and  will 
tip  off  by  saying  that  I  am  well  and  strong;  scramble 
about  on  a  little  Albanese  pony  (which  cost  the  sum 
of  50  scudi  and  is  about  the  size  of  a  Newfoundland 
dog)  whenever  I  can  find  time  from  my  work.  I 
shall  appear  over  the  ocean  in  August! 

Yours,  H. 

*  Someone  has  justly  said: 

"  This  little  forest  elf  is  the  very  personification  of  boyish  self-will  and 
mischief.  With  his  right  hand  he  grasps  a  beetle,  and  seems  about  to  throw  it; 
with  his  left  he  presses  unconsciously  a  lizard.  In  all  the  lines  of  the  face,  in 
all  the  action  of  the  body,  gleams  forth  the  mischievous  self-will  of  a  being 
scarcely  aware  of  the  pain  he  causes,  while  rollicking  in  the  consciousness  of  his 
tiny  might. 

What  a  moment  of  fun  and  drollery  was  that  in  which  he  was  conceived! 
What  delicious  pertness  in  that  upturned  toe!     It  is  a  laugh  in  marble." 

The  Prince  of  Wales  had  one  of  many  copies  and  it  was  called  the  favorite 
of  all  modern  statues.  It  has  gone  to  Australia,  the  West  Indies  and  into  per- 
haps fifty  other  places.  The  Crown  Princess  of  Germany  (afterwards  the 
Empress  Frederick)  on  viewing  it  in  the  studio  exclaimed  "  Oh,  Miss  Hosmer, 
you  have  such  talent  for  toes!" 


80  HARRIET  HOSMER 

ROBERT  BROWNING  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Dearest  Hatty:  Florence.  May  22,  '57. 

Your  note  came  to  hand  (and  heart)  a  day  or  two 
ago.  I  daresay  j^ou  know  what  a  sad  winter-time 
we  had  of  it,  with  bad  news  from  England  every 
other  month.  Now,  that  is,  a  month  ago,  the  death 
of  Ba's  father.  She  has  seen  nobody  but  Isa  Blagden 
since  then,  nor  once  left  the  house.  (But  she  shall, 
if  I  carry  her,  and  before  the  week  is  out.)  How 
often  we  both  of  us  meant  to  write  to  you,  you  ought 
to  guess  and  do,  perhaps. 

So  you  won't  take  Florence  on  your  way  to  Eng- 
land, but  on  your  return,  I'll  engage.  And  what 
shall  we  do,  who  don't  mean  to  set  our  faces  toward 
England  for  a  year  at  least?  Do  try  and  take  us 
back  to  Rome  with  you,  as  you  easily  can.  To  think 
we  have  lost  three  years  of  j'^ou,  Hatty! 

I  would  give  something  to  see  your  statue  in  Lon- 
don. All  I  have  heard  as  yet  about  it  is  that  it  is 
well  placed,  but  that  little  sculpture  vault  is  an 
abomination,  when  the  best  is  made  of  it.  What  else 
besides  the  sleeping  girl's  figure,  of  which  people  re- 
port so  well?*     What  else  are  you  doing? 

Didn't  I  think  of  you  the  other  day,  when  I  got 
perpetuated  in  plaster,  back  of  a  shaggy  Abbey  wall, 
in  this  neighborhood.  As  I  came  home  I  was  a  little 
inclined  to  salute  it,  after  English  souvenir  festivities, 
with  a  "hip-hip-hip-hurrah!"  Now  I  naturally  turn 
to  Mrs.  Jameson,  that  she  liked  you  extremely  we 
had  from  her  own  mouth  (or  pen)  long  ago  and 
I  rejoice  that  you  can  say  those  pleasant  things 
about  her  from  your  heart.  With  her  and  Mr. 
Gibson,  and  other  friends,  you  will  want  no  letters  to 
English  people,  of  course.     Should  anything  happen 

*  Beatrice  Cenci. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  81 

to  strike  you,  that  Ba  or  myself  could  do,  you  will 
tell  us,  won't  you? 

I  have  not  heard  a  word  from,  nor  of,  dear  Mrs. 
Sartoris,  nor  Leighton,  nor  Cartwright — you  must 
hear  sometimes.  It  seems  strangest  of  all  that  I 
should  be  so  near,  in  flesh  and  spirit,  to  that  noble 
Page,  and  never  have  word  or  sign  from  him.  How 
glad  I  am  that  your  picture  is  done.  You  heard 
of  all  the  sickening  mischances  about  mine — better 
fortune  to  you — and  in  all  things  best  fortune,  dearest 
Hatty!    Ba's  kindest  love — she  sends  it  while  I  write. 

Yours  affectionately  ever, 

H.  B. 


CHAPTER  IV 

1857 

In  the  early  summer  of  this  year,  the  artist  left 
Rome  to  make  her  first  visit  to  her  native  land  after 
five  years  of  absence,  which  had  been  spent  in  earnest 
study  and  work.  On  her  way,  she  made  a  short  stop 
in  England,  to  be  present  at  the  opening  of  the  Royal 
Academy,  to  which  she  had  sent  her  statue  of  Beatrice 
Cenci.    From  there  she  writes: 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  l^^^i>o^.  July  25,  1857. 

I  have  been  carrying  your  last  good  letter  in  my 
pocket  for  several  days,  hourly  intending  to  answer 
it,  and  never  having  ten  minutes  in  which  to  do  so. 
It  is  now  eleven  o'clock  p.  m.,  but  I  am  determined 
to  remain  perpendicular  until  I  see  it  signed  and 
sealed  (if  not  delivered)  ;  more  particularly  as  this 
is  the  first  time  that  I  have  been  at  home  before  one 
or  two  o'clock  a.  m.  ;  and  my  principle  is  to  seize 
opportunities. 

I  don't  know  that  you  know  how  much  there  is  to 
be  done  in  London  when  you  once  set  about  it,  but 
the  time  I  have  been  here  is  long  enough  to  make 
me  feel  the  effect  of  late  hours  and  dissipation,  and 
though  I  am  really  getting  fat  upon  it,  I  begin  to 
long  for  country  air  and  country  quiet.  I  have  en- 
joyed my  stay  here  immense^,  have  made  many  new 
friends,  have  seen  lots  of  old  ones,  and  have  been 
treated  with  great  kindness,  but  my  life  is  so  different 

82 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  83 

here  from  that  in  Rome,  that  in  the  words  of  the 
song,  "  I'm  not  myself  at  all,  at  all,"  and  don't  know 
what  I  should  become  in  another  fortnight.  There 
is  such  a  bustle  and  whirl  of  gayety,  that  one  is  swept 
along  without  knowing  where  one  is.  I  must  give  you 
a  long  account  of  my  being  and  doing,  when  I  have 
the  delight  of  seeing  you,  which  will  be  soon  now, 
for  I  shall  probably  sail  on  the  first  of  August.  I 
will  send  the  Cenci  on  August  the  5th  from  South- 
ampton. .  .  . 

I  am  staying  with  Mrs.  Sartoris  while  here.  Oh, 
she  is  such  a  darling!  So  clever  and  so  amusing.  Her 
loss  in  Rome  will  never  be  supplied.  But  I  have 
Miss  Cushman  there,  who  is  like  a  mother  to  me  and 
who  spoils  me  utterly.  How  good  and  thoughtful 
she  is;  she  thinks  of  everybody's  pleasure  and  welfare, 
and  manages  to  stretch  out  a  handful  of  blessings  to 
every  one  she  knows,  sooner  or  later.  .  .  . 

I  forgot  to  say  that  not  having  enough  to  do  with 

my    other    engagements    here,    I    must    needs    make 

more,    by    sitting    for   two    paintings  *    of    my    ugly 

phiz,  but  unfortunately  the)^  stay  this  side  the  ocean. 

Yours,  TT 

At  the  Royal  Academy  Exhibition,  Miss  Hosmer 
met  an  old  and  warm  friend,  ]Mr.  George  Ticknor  f 
of  Boston,  who  evidently  felt  a  national  pride  in  his 
young  countrywoman,  and  in  writing  home  he  thus 
speaks  of  her; 

London,  July  29,   1857. 
"  The  illumination  this  evening  at  the  exhibition  of 
the  Academy  of  Arts  made  everything  very  brilliant, 
and  the  company,  which  could  move  about  easily  in 

♦Two  portraits  by  Sir  William  Boxall.  f  Of  "  Spanish  Literature." 


84  HARRIET  HOSMER 

such  great  spaces,  comprised,  it  seemed  to  me,  nearly 
everybody  I  know  in  London,   and  what  was  more, 
everybody    seemed    animated,    talkative,    and    uncon- 
strained.     Miss    Hosmer   had    staid   in   order  to    be 
present  to-night,  and  she  had  the  benefit  of  it.     She 
came  rather  late,  and  I  had  talked  about  her  Cenci 
with  Eastlake,  Waegen,  and  other  people  whose  word 
in  such  a  matter  is  law  here,  and  I  had  shown  it  to  Sir 
Roderick   JNIurcliison,    the   Heads,   the    Milmans,   the 
Bishop    of    London,    General    Williams    the    hero    of 
Kars,  and  to  Lord  and  Lady  Palmerston,  though  I 
think  not  to  the  last  till  near  the  end  of  the  evening. 
She  was  neatly  and  simply  dressed  in  pink  silk,  and 
looked   uncommonly    pretty.      I    found    she   knew    a 
good  many  people,  old  Lady  Morley,  the  Cardwells, 
and  others,  but  I  took  her,  and  presented  her  to  the 
Heads,  the  Bishop  of  London  and  Mrs.   Tait,   Gen- 
eral Williams,  the  Laboucheres,  Lord  and  Lady  Palm- 
erston,  Sir  W.   Holland,   and   sundry   others   I   now 
forget.     She  pleased.    Her  statue  *  was  much  praised. 
She  was  very  happy,  and  I  enjoyed  it  a  great  deal. 
When  Lord  and  Lady  Palmerston  were  looking  at 
the  Cenci  and  expressing  great  admiration,  Eastlake 
touched  my  arm,  and  whispered,  so  that  they  could 
hear  it,    '  Everybody  says   the   same   sort  of  things. 
It  is  really  a  beautiful  work  of  art,  and  for  one  of 
her  age  quite  wonderful.'      Pretty  soon  after  this   I 
came  home.     It  was  quite  time,  nearly  1  o'clock.     I 
was  sorry  to  leave  the  little  Hosmer,  for  I  had  to  bid 
her  good-by,  she  goes  to-morrow,  but  I  think  she  had 
enough  of  distinction  to-night,  to  make  her  glad  she 
came  to  London." 

Miss  Hosmer's  long  holiday  in  her  own   country 
among  old  friends  proved  to  be  all  that  was  delight- 

*  The  Beatrice  Cenci. 


o 

o 

w 
o 

t— I 

< 

w 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  85 

ful  and  the  exhibition  of  her  Beatrice  Cenci  was  most 
successful.  The  only  cloud  upon  her  summer  was  the 
financial  panic  of  that  year,  which  caused  trouble  far 
and  wide. 

After  several  months  at  home,  she  writes : 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 

-,        ^  Watertown,  Oct.,  1857. 

Dear  C: 

My  movements  are  now  definite,  as  I  shall  sail  on 
the  "  Vanderbilt  "  on  the  24th  of  October.  I  am  en- 
joying myself  so  greatly  that  I  shall  scarcely  get  up 
enough  enterprise  to  carry  me  to  Italy,  and  j^et  my 
fingers  are  burning  to  get  hold  of  some  clay.  .  .  . 

It  is  wonderful  what  perfect  disarrangement  there 
is  in  financial  affairs  here,  no  end  of  failures  in  Bos- 
ton, and  affecting  people  long  accustomed  to  the  ease 
and  inactivity  wliich  wealth  engenders.  Blessed  be 
nothing,  saj^  I,  then  there  is  no  danger  of  greater 
poverty.  I  am  sure  if  the  Lord  protects  liis  own; 
your  good  father  will  escape.  I  would  go  anywhere 
to  see  him,  I  cannot  think  of  leaving  here  without. 
Unless  he  gave  me  his  especial  farewell  and  blessing, 
I  should  not  expect  to  succeed  in  any  undertaking. 
I  want  to  see  your  sisterly  face  too,  as  I  am  leaving 
these  shores,  to  sen^e  as  a  magnet  to  draw  me  back 
again  when  I  have  made  one  more  revolution  of  a 
statue.  .  .  . 

But  I  will  write  no  more,  tliis  fingering  on,  when 
you  have  really  nothing  to  say,  is  like  staying  and 
staying,  for  no  other  reason  than  to  rejoice  in  the 
light  of  a  countenance  from  wliich  it  is  impossible 
to  tear  one's  self  away. 

Your  H. 


86  HARRIET  HOSMER 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

T^        Tir     /-*  Watertown,  Oct.,  1857. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  '         ' 

I  have  just  received  your  letter.  I  am  sure  Provi- 
dence will  steer  you  clear,  over  this  stormy  sea  of 
worry  and  trouble.  If  misery  loves  company,  there 
is  no  lack  just  now  of  that  article,  for  as  the  Irish 
sen^ant  remarked  to  his  master,  when  he  presented 
him  with  one  long  and  another  short  boot,  "  The 
pair  upstairs  is  just  in  the  same  fix."  So  is  every- 
body in  the  same  fix.  There  never  was  anything  like 
it,  and  I  suppose  can't  be  worse,  so  that  any  change 
will  be  for  the  better.  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had  the 
mines  of  Golconda  to  sift  for  you.  The  will  is  not 
wanting,  onlj''  the  gems.  I  don't  know  but  that  is 
better  than  to  have  the  gems  and  not  the  will.  It 
does  seem  vexatious  that  two  such  nice  people  as 
ourselves  should  ever  be  forced  to  think  of  ways 
and  means,  and  blessed  be  the  Creator,  who  has 
provided  a  place  where  we  shall  eventually  live  on 
credit  and  faith.  I  need  not  say  with  Horace,  "  Be 
brave,  be  bold,"  because  good  hearts  are  always 
strong,  and  the  sweetest  drop  in  a  cup  of  lemon  juice 
like  the  present  is  to  find  out  who  are  your  best 
friends;  at  least,  I  did,  at  such  a  time. 

I  fear  my  talents  do  not  lie  in  the  direction  of  busi- 
ness, but  I  should  like  to  be  where  I  could  talk  non- 
sense to  you,  when  you  come  away  from  your  office, 
and  read  to  you  the  Democritan  philosophy,  but  I 
think  that  ingredient  mingles  largely  in  your  com- 
position, and  I  do  not  know  any  one  who  could  more 
successfully  ward  off  an  impending  calamity,  or  more 
cheerfully  accept  the  heaviest,  if  such  were  the  will 
of  Fate. 

It  must  be  such  a  god  of  consideration  as  yourself, 
to  think   about,   or  inquire   after,   my   affairs,   in  the 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  87 

midst  of  the  worry  of  your  own.  Yes,  my  Cenci 
arrived  and  was  opened  to  be  publicly  hashed  yes- 
terday. She  came  in  perfect  safety,  and  wanted 
nothing  but  a  bath  here  and  there,  to  make  her  as 
good  as  when  she  left  the  studio.  That  she  had,  and 
reposes  beneath  a  heavenly  and  most  becoming  light, 
and  begins  to  attract  a  reception  around  her.  I  think 
she  will  repose  from  her  wanderings  for  about  three 
weeks,  when  the  course  of  the  tide  and  of  human 
events  will  bear  her  to  New  Orleans  and  thence  to  her 
grandfather's  arms. 

On  the  24th  of  October  I  put  myself  on  the  "  Van- 
derbilt "  for  Havre.  You  do  not  come  to  New  York 
till  the  28th.  Colburn  *  would  say  there  was  no  hope 
of  my  seeing  you,  but  a  small  creature  named  Cupid 
comes  to  console  me  and  to  assure  me  that  if  the 
worst  comes  to  the  worst,  he  can  at  least  manage  to 
have  a  picture  hung  round  my  heart,  which  he  swears 
will  be  unchangeable,  and  I  believe  him,  though  I 
don't  yet  resign  all  hopes  of  telling  you  this  viva  voce. 

My  father  is  sound  asleep  at  this  hour,  or  else 
would  send  you  some  tender  message,  but  mine  must 
represent  the  cream  of  it. 

Yours,  H. 

While  in  America  Miss  Hosmer  received  these  let- 
ters from  her  master: 

JOHN  GIBSON  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

14  Welbeck  St.,  Cavendish  Square, 

Mn  dear  little  Hatty:  ^*  "^  ^^P*-  ^«^'^- 

I  was  very  glad  indeed  to  find  that  you  were  safe 
at  Boston,  and  my  rival  is  equally  happy  to  hear 
that  you  are  well,  that  is,  you  know,  old  Boxall. 

*  Of  Mental  Arithmetic. 


88  HARRIET  HOSMER 

I  spent  five  days  in  the  country  with  the  Cardwells, 
and  there  was  Mr.  Ticknor,  as  usual  most  agreeable 
and  clever.  I  saw  the  Manchester  Exhibition,  and 
was  much  pleased,  and  Mr.  Sandbach  met  me  there 
and  tried  hard  to  get  me  to  go  to  Liverpool  with 
him,  but  I  could  not  go  there;  promised  to  visit  him 
next  year  and  take  you  with  me,  but  perhaps  your 
father  will  keep  you  now  safe  where  you  are.  He 
would  relieve  me  of  the  trouble  of  keeping  you  out 
of  the  Devil's  ways.  If  he  does  let  you  slip  out  of 
his  hands,  he  ought  to  be  satisfied  to  be  without  you 
for  some  years,  because  crossing  that  vast  sea  is  very 
dangerous.  I  think  you  had  better  come  back  very 
soon,  before  the  bad  weather  begins.  I  dare  say 
those  horrid  Republicans  will  want  to  keep  you,  bad 
as  you  are. 

The  day  after  to-morrow  is  Monday  the  7th  Sept. 
and  on  that  day  I  leave  for  Rome  in  company 
with  Spence,  but  I  shall  not  be  in  Rome  till  the  1st 
October.  I  enclosed  your  letter  to  Mr.  Hay  and 
left  it  with  Murray  to  forward  to  his  address,  or  to 
keep  till  he  comes  to  London.  I  do  not  know  his 
wanderings. 

Yesterday,  Miss  Hayes  and  Miss  P.  came  and 
saw  your  picture,  and  they  admired  the  likeness 
very  much  indeed.  Yesterday  I  called  upon  Mrs. 
Crawford;  she  is  greatly  pulled  down;  Crawford 
is  fast  going,  he  is  quite  blind  of  the  healthy  eye. 
I  dare  say  we  shall  very  soon  hear  of  liis  death. 

Your  statue  was  shipped  soon  after  you  left.  The 
judges  have  awarded  the  prizes  for  the  models  of 
the  Wellington,  but  they  did  not  see  any  merit  in 
mine  nor  Macdonald's.  Lady  Marion  Alford  and 
others  are  disgusted.  Sir  Charles  Eastlake  wrote 
me  a  note  saying  how  he  regrets  that  I  condescended 
to   send   them   anything. 

Be  good;   return  soon;  if  you  don't,   I   shall  look 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  89 

out  for  another,  but  I  do  not  expect  to  find  such 
another  clever  fellow  as  you  are.  Remember  me 
most  kindly  to  your  father. 

Always  affectionately  yours, 

John  Gibson. 


JOHN   GIBSON   TO   MISS  HOSMER. 

My  dear  little  Hatty: 

This  is  to  thank  you  most  sincerely  for  your  most 
welcome  letter,  which  I  have  received,  hoping  that 
your  statue  will  arrive  by  the  time  you  expect,  and 
that  you  may  fly  from  those  horrid  Republicans  to 
Rome.  At  the  same  time  I  give  them  the  credit  of 
their  good  taste  and  proper  feeling  towards  you. 
They  do  themselves  credit  by  encouraging  you,  fat 
as  you  are! 

I  want  to  make  a  cat's-paw  of  you  to  annoy  those 
money-making  sculptors  of  London,  to  send  to  the 
exhibition  your  works  regularly.  I  am  sure  you  will 
surpass  many  of  them,  that  is,  if  you  can  save  your- 
self from  the  attraction  of  Love.  I  do  not  want 
to  make  you  angry  by  saying,  "  become  an  old  maid." 
No,  no! 

If  when  you  are  at  Paris  the  exiiibition  is  open, 
go  there  to  see  their  sculpture,  for  when  I  was  there, 
on  my  return,  their  sculpture  was  all  arranged.  I 
hope  you  will  see  it  and  their  busts  of  ladies — observe 
the  taste.  .  .  . 

I  presented  your  kind  remembrances  here  and  all 
were  much  pleased.  Make  haste  and  let  me  see  your 
dear  httle  self,  not  thin,  but  fat  and  well. 

Affectionately,  Jq^n  Gibson, 

Sculptor, 

At  Rome,  26th  Oct.,  1857.  and  your  slave. 


90  HARRIET  HOSMER 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

At  Dk.  Bellows',  New  York,  Oct.  1857. 

Dear  3Ir.  Crow: 

The'  it  is  midnight  and  my  packing  still  to  be 
done,  I  cannot  leave  our  shores  without  saj^ing  good- 
by  on  terra  firma.  On  the  assurance  that  the  prayers 
of  a  righteous  woman  avail  much,  I  count  on  seeing 
you  next  winter  in  Rome,  when  you  have  outridden 
the  financial  Hellespont,  wliich,  like  that  classic 
stream,  threatens  everybody  in  its  hungry  maw.  I 
have  seen  Miss  Catharine  Sedgwick  this  evening, 
who  said  the  good  angels  were  favoring  you,  and  that 
the  threatening  gales  were  subsiding  over  the  financial 
ocean.  I  pray  God  and  fate  that  such  may  be  the 
case,  for  I  know  of  nobodj''  who  so  little  deserves 
castigation  in  any  way  as  yourself,  if  you  will  let 
me  say  so. 

Dr.  Bellows  has  been  all  that  is  delightful,  and 
Mrs.  Bellows  the  milk  of  human  kindness.  The  sec- 
ond day  that  I  was  in  New  York  I  came  here  to 
stay,  and  had  a  charming  dinner  party.  To-day  I 
have  been  flpng  about,  and  to-night  have  had  a 
soiree.  Miss  Sedgwick  and  two  of  her  nieces  Avere 
here,  and  divers  people  whom  I  was  very  glad  to 
see.  They  want  my  Cenci  at  the  English  Art  Ex- 
hibition here,  and  have  offered  to  bring  it  from  Bos- 
ton at  their  own  risk  and  expense.  I  am  not  only 
acquiescent,  but  pleased.  It  is  to  be  packed  in  about 
a  fortnight.  Will  probably  stay  here  six  weeks,  and 
then  resume  its  journey  to  St.   Louis. 

Yours,  H. 

Miss  Hosmer  sailed  on  October  24th  for  England, 
and  on  the  voyage  she  indulged  in  the  following 
characteristic  bit  of  fun: 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  91 

To  the  Hen  that  laid  the  egg  the  poet  had  for  breakfast  on 
board  the  Vanderhilt  Monday  morning,  November  2, 1857. 

Hail,  laying  bird,  and  thrice  all  hail ! 

Thou'st   raised   an   egg'^   my  voice   I'll   raise. 
For  will  shall  not,  if  flesh  shall  fail, 

To  greet  thy  lays  with  other  lays. 

Thy  yolk  was  easy,  but  for  me, 

Though  with  material  more  ample, 
How  idly  vain  the  hope  would  be, 

Like  thee  to  set  as  good  egg-sample! 

In  vain  tho'  e'en  heart's  blood  I  spilt. 
And  yet  than  now,  what  time  more  fit, 

While  I  upon  the  Vanderhilt, 

Or  brooding  o'er  the   hatch-way   sit.'* 

For  laying  claims  to  lay  eggs 

Would  be  too  like  (my  way  of  reading) 

The  last  hen  on  her  final  legs; 

'Twould  be  the  last  fowl  proceeding. 

I'm  not  in-grate,  nor  yet  in  small, 

Or  smaller  things  would  do  thee  wrong; 

Thou  shellest  out  thy  little  all, 
Like  Shelley,  I'll  give  thee  a  song. 

A  song,  and  words  of  comfort  too. 

Progression  still  kind  nature  sings, 
And  keeping  this  advice  in  view, 

Lay  thyself  out  for  greater  things. 

For  greater  things,  and  thou  shalt  shine. 

Confessed  by  savage  and  by  sage; 
If  other  voices  arc  like  mine. 

The  only  Nestor  of  the  age. 


92  HARRIET  TTOSIMKR 

TTpon  landing  in  Kiiglarid  Miss  Ilosnier  proceeded 
immcdiiitcly  to  Italy.  She  stopped  for  a  time  in 
Florence  and  she  mentions  in  her  letters  that  she  and 
Mrs.  Jameson  breakfasted  daily  together  and  that 
they  always  dined  with  the  Brownings  at  Casa  Guidi. 

During  a  winter  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning  had 
passed  in  Rome,  INliss  Ilosmer  had  made  a  cast  of 
their  hands.*  Hawthorne  thus  alludes  to  it  in  his 
"  Marble  Faun,"  "  Harriet  Ilosmer's  Clasped  Hands 
of  Browning  and  his  wife  symboli/e  the  individuality 
and  heroic  union  of  two  high,  poetic  lives." 

When  questioned  about  this  work  later,  Miss  Hos- 
mer  said: — 

"  The  history  of  the  hands  is  very  brief.  In  the 
winter  of  1853,  my  second  winter  in  Rome,  I  made 
the  personal  ac(|uaintance  of  Mr.  and  Mis.  Browning. 
I  then  conceived  the  idea  of  casting  their  hands,  and 
asked  Mrs.  Browning  if  she  would  consent.  '  Yes,' 
she  said,  '  provided  you  will  cast  them,  but  I  will 
not  sit  for  the  formaiorc'  Consequently  1  did  the 
casting   myself." 

Among  many  lines  written  at  the  time  of  Mr. 
Browning's  death,  were  two,  which  might  not  inaptly 
be  inscribed  upon  these  hands: 

"  ]*.'irt('(l  hy  (Ic'.'iili,"  we  say, 
But  "  hand  in  hand  Ihcy  hold  I  heir  eternal  way." 

It  was  just  before  going  to  Florence  that  Miss 
Ilosmer   received   this   letter: 

*  This  original  cast  is  now  in  the  possession  of  the  writer. 


Till':  CLASPED  HANDS  UF  MR.  AND  MRS.  RROWNING 

"l-.JiRTED  nV  DEATH,"  WE  S.\Y  — 
YET  HAND  IN  HAND  THEY  WEND  THITK  ElEKNAL  WAV. 

Harriet  Jlosiiier 


1 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  93 

ROBERT  BROWNING  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

n         f    TT  ft'  •  Florence,  October  19,  1857. 

You  know  whether  or  not  we  are  glad  to  hear  from 
you,  and  more  glad  to  expect  your  very  self  to  come, 
and  most  glad  of  all  to  hope  to  be  along  with  you 
at  Rome  this  winter.  We  do  hope  that,  and  mean 
that,  as  seriously  as  you  wish  we  should  if  there  is 
any  believing  the  w^ords  of  your  mouth — only,  if  you 
really  were  to  arrive  at  the  last  of  October  as  you 
promise,  there  would  be  no  persuading  Ba  to  start 
then,  or  before  the  end  of  November;  for,  I'll  tell 
you,  we  went  to  the  Baths  of  Lucca  two  months  and 
a  half  ago,  and  first  of  all,  our  friend  Mr.  Lytton, 
who  came  a  few  days  after  us,  had  an  attack  of 
gastric  fever  that  laid  him  up  for  :iix  weeks.  Next, 
Penini  caught  it,  a  twelve  days'  business  only  (he's 
well  now),  and  last  our  maid  performed  her  little 
piece  of  feverishness,  till  we  had  enough  of  it.  So 
we  intend  to  run  no  risks.  Still,  you  may  be  de- 
tained later  than  you  expect,  and  we  may  gain 
courage  as  the  chilly  weather  approaches.  In  any 
case  I  assure  you  we  hope,  as  I  say,  and  mean,  to 
go  to  Rome  this  winter,  and  we'll  settle  all  about 
it  when  you  come  here.  Will  that  do?  I  shall  count 
on  your  writing  from  Paris  as  you  promise,  so  as 
to  be  able  to  reckon  days  and  nights,  and  keep 
my  arms  open  to  the  proper  width,  for  the  jump 
into  them  from  the  railway  carriage,  which  I  also 
count   on. 

Isa  has  gone  to  Leghorn,  and  I  shall  follow  her 
thither  this  evening,  and  return  in  her  company  to- 
morrow. Won't  she  rejoice  in  you!  Mrs.  Jameson 
is  in  this  very  town,  next  door  to  us  and  she  sent  her 
especial  love  to  you  last  night.  I  shall  leave  Ba 
room  to  put  in  a  word — Ah!  Won't  we  have  a  time 


94  HARRIET  HOSMER 

of  it!     It's  too  good  to  prove  true,  that's  the  word: 
but  you're  a  darhng. 

Yours   affectionately, 

Robert  Browning. 

Mrs.    Browning   says : 

"  Ba's  best  love  and  as  Robert  won't  wait,  dearest 
Hattie,  at  Florence  now,  and  Rome  afterwards. 

E.  B.  B." 

Once  again  in  her  studio  after  these  visits  to 
America  and  to  Florence,    the  artist  writes: 

Rome,  Nov.,  1857. 
Dea?'  Mr.  Crow: 

Behold  me  here  glorious  and  triumphant  after 
braving  all  the  perils  of  the  sea  and  the  land.  What 
will  you  think  of  me,  never  to  have  written  you  a 
word  while  I  was  a  pelligrina?  If  the  heart  could 
hold  a  pen  I  should  have  written  a  folio  every  day. 
But  alas,  how  we  are  trammelled  by  the  flesh! 

I  find  my  affairs  here  very  satisfactory.  Marble 
exquisite  for  my  work,  and  my  flock  of  Pucks  ad- 
vancing, Mr.  Gibson  tells  me  to-day  I  must  raise 
my  price  for  the  latter  named  gentleman,  and  I  am 
very  willing  to  obey,  in  future,  and  I  agree  with 
you,  it  is  time  that  I  was  paid  in  more  glittering 
currency  than  "  glory."  Glory  does  not  drive  the 
machine,  though  it  makes  it  glisten,  and  at  this  very 
moment  I  have  far  more  of  the  glitter  than  of  the 
precious  metal.  Now  I  shall  attack  a  small  sketch 
in  clay,  for  a  fountain,  because  fountains  always 
come  in  play! 

I  had  a  most  delightful  stay  in  Florence.  The 
Brownings  were  kinder  to  me  than  you  can  possibly 
imagine,   and   so  was   dear  Mrs.   Jameson,   who   was 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  95 

in  the  same  house.  I  am  more  and  more  grateful, 
every  time  I  see  them,  that  I  have  the  privilege  of 
knowing  them  so  well. 

I  think  this  story  of  Mr.  Browning's  will  entertain 
you: 

"  I  was  dining  out  last  night,"  said  Mr.  Brown- 
ing, "  and  took  in  to  dinner  Lady  .  What  ques- 
tions do  you  think  she  asked  me? 

"  '  Mr.  Browning,  what  do  you  know  of  the  Daven- 
port Brothers? ' 

"  I  explained  to  the  best  of  my  ability  that  they 
were  uncommonly  clever  conjurers. 

"  '  Oh,  very  interesting,'  said  the  lady.  *  Well  then, 
Mr.  Browning,  what  are  the  Plymouth  Brethren?' 

"  '  A  certain  sect,'  said  I,  '  who  have  peculiar  ideas 
concerning  religion  and  things  in  general.' 

" '  Oh,  very  interesting,'  again  said  the  Lady, 
'  Well,  now,  Mr.  Browning,  what  can  you  tell  me  of 
Yarmouth  Bloaters?' 

" '  Si  non  e  vero  hen  trovatof  said  I. 

"  I  assure  you  it  is  every  word  true,"  said  Mr. 
Browning. 

Then  I  believed  him,  but  what  is  still  inexplicable 
is  that  the  lady,  who  bears  a  very  intellectual  name, 
is  herself  regarded  as  a  woman  of  great  intelligence, 
yet  here  was  Mr.  Browning's  experience.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

Although  much  given  to  puns.  Miss  Hosmer  had 
no  illusions  about  them,  as  appears  from  her  own 
comments.     She  said: 

"  A  pun,  like  champagne,  loses  its  sparkle  when 
too  long  drawn  out.     Its  flash  is  its  savor. 

Browning  delighted  in  puns.  English  w^as  not 
always  sufficiently  elastic  and  then  he  took  refuge  in 
Greek.     As  for  Lowell,  puns  dropped  from  his  lips 


96  HARRIET  HOSMER 

as  pearls  dropped  from  the  lips  of  the  good  fairy. 
Story  was  an  inveterate  punster  and  oh!  what  savory 
dishes  with  puns  pique  graced  his  delightful  board 
at  the  Barberini!  And  leaving  laymen  behind  us, 
well  do  I  remember  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
(Dr.  Tait),  no  whit  behind  other  jiunsters  at  the 
merry  Loch  Luichart  banquets,  gravely  assuring  us 
that  whenever  he  spoke  to  any  member  of  his  family 
it  '  was  always  in  the  form  of  a  tete-a-tete,'  and 
giving  us  a  conundrum  too,  at  his  own  expense, 
'Why  am  I  a  man  of  most  regular  habits?'  'Be- 
cause I  go  to  bed  at  eight  (a  Tait)  and  get  up  at 
eight    (a  Tait).' 

We  do  not  claim  that  punning  is  legitimate  wit. 
Wit  consists  in  combination  of  ideas,  punning  in  com- 
bination of  words  only.  We  wonder  at  the  one,  but 
we  laugh  at  the  drollery  of  the  other — as  the  world 
goes  a  pun  is  regarded  as  an  imponderable  commodity, 
all  know  the  rank  it  holds  in  the  order  of  pure  intellect. 
It  is  not  Euclidean  save  that  a  pun  if  it  be  good,  is 
greater  than  its  part,  if  it  be  a  bad  one,  its  part  is 
better  than  its  whole.  A  happy  vocabulary,  keen 
appreciation  and  a  fine  sense  of  the  unfitness  of  things 
are  necessary  ingredients  in  the  manipulation  of  a 
good  pun  and  not  all  persons  have  these  qualifica- 
tions. It  is  like  Caviar,  it  may  be  unsavory,  but  it  is 
appetizing  and  anything  whatsoever  that  tends  to 
make  life  sit  more  lightly  upon  us  in  this  weighty 
century  is  to  be  hailed  as  a  friend." 

In  referring  to  her  previous  association  with  Mrs. 
Jameson,  Miss  Hosmer  wrote: 

"  The  pleasure  of  my  third  winter  was  greatly 
enhanced  by  her  presence  in  Rome  where  she  was 
working  upon  her  '  Sacred  and  Legendary  Art.' 
It  was  my  privilege  to  see  a  good  deal  of  her.     She 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  97 

often  came  to  my  studio,  and  her  talks  upon  art  were 
most  instructive  and  helpful.  Upon  one  visit,  she 
said,  '  How  disagreeable  you  are  tliis  morning.' 
'  Dear  me,'  I  replied,  '  and  I  was  trying  to  be  par- 
ticularly agreeable.'  '  I  have  made  two  observations,' 
returned  Mrs.  Jameson,  '  and  you  have  assented  to 
both:  what  becomes  of  conversation?' 

In  one  of  our  rambles  about  Rome  we  visited  the 
Ludovisi  Gallery,  I  think  her  first  visit  to  it,  and  as 
we  stopped  before  the  famous  Juno,  she  exclaimed, 
'  It  is  herself,  her  very  self ! '  '  Who  ? '  I  inquired. 
'  A  young  friend  of  mine  in  England,  of  whom, 
saving  the  colossal  size,  this  is  the  perfect  image. 
You  should  see  her.  What  a  model  she  would  make 
for  j^ou ! '  Carefully  viewing  the  face  from  every 
point,  then  her  praise  became  more  eloquent  of  her 
friend's  classic  beauty,  but  if  she  mentioned  her 
name  I  forgot  it.  Some  years  after,  upon  the  occa- 
sion of  my  first  visit  to  Loch  Luichart  I  had  a  gen- 
uine surprise.  In  my  room,  over  the  mantelpiece 
hung  a  picture,  a  drawing  in  ink,  which  at  once  I 
recognized  to  be  by  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Jameson.  '  Did 
you  know  Mrs.  Jameson?'  I  inquired,  turning  to 
my  hostess.  '  Oh,  very  well,  she  was  our  governess,' 
said  Lady  Ashburton.  A  light  dawned  upon  me; 
this  was  the  classic  model  about  whom  Mrs.  Jameson 
was   always   talking.  .  .  . 

Much  that  I  know  of  Florence  I  owe  to  Mrs* 
Jameson  and  the  other  half  to  Mr.  Browning." 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Bear  Mr,  Crow:  ^«^^'  ^^^-  ^^^^^ 

C.  says  that  she  had  read  divers  good  notices  of  the 
Cenci  and  some  that  cut  it  up,  but  the  latter  kind  do 
an  artist   more   good  than   the   former. 


98  HARRIET  HOSMER 

I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  that  affairs  in  America  are 
wearing  a  more  favorable  aspect,  and  that  you  are 
riding  safely  through  the  storm.  Indeed,  I  should 
have  doubted  the  justice  of  Providence  if  you  had 
suffered,  and  I  was  not  alone  in  that  opinion.  You 
must  have  had  an  anxious  three  months,  and  I  can 
suggest  no  better  haven  of  rest  after  it  than  Rome. 
Do  bring  every  beloved  member  of  your  family,  for 
a  long  and  blessed  stay  in  this  land  of  art  and  heart. 
I  am  yours  to  command,  to  prepare  you  the  way  and 
to  make  your  paths,  as  well  as  your  tongues,  straight. 
I  shall  not  cease  harping  upon  this  string,  till  I 
hear  your  own  voice  making  music  among  us. 

I  have  begun  my  work  only  now,  having  had  a 
siege  of  influenza  since  I  arrived,  and  was  kept  locked 
up  for  better  preservation,  till  now  I  rise  like  a  giant 
rejuvenated  from  my  feast  of  pills,  and  ready  for 
work.  I  am  making  a  model  for  a  fountain,  an  idea 
which  has  been  floating  in  my  mind  for  some  time. 

As  to  having  a  studio  of  my  own,  I  don't  know 
when  I  shall  be  able  to  accomplish  it,  as  Mr.  Gibson 
doesn't  seem  inclined  to  let  me  go.  INIy  present  idea 
is,  to  get  one  or  two  rooms  attached  to  his,  where  I 
may  have  greater  space,  which  is  the  only  fault  I 
have  to  find  with  the  dear  little  room  where  I  work 
at  present. 

...  I  look  back  upon  my  visit  last  summer  with 
ever  increasing  pleasure.  Everything  was  sunshine, 
everybody  so  good  to  me,  better  than  I  deserve,  sin- 
ner as  I  am,  and  in  return  for  all  that  kindness  and 
good  feeling,  I  must  try  to  do  better  and  better, 
mustn't  I? 

.  .  .  Mrs.  Gaskell  has  been  here,  and  I  asked  her 
if  that  delicious  "  Cranford  "  was  historical  or  merely 
fanciful,  and  she  tells  me  that  it  is  all  from  the  life 
and  transpired  in  a  httle  country  village  to  which 
she  was  taken  when  a  child.     It  was  really  Luxford, 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  99 

and  she  said  that  she  had  delineated  the  people  so 
faithfully  that  two  old  ladies  recognized  themselves, 
and  she  had  never  dared  to  show  her  face  in  the 
place  again.  Yours,  H. 

Later,  in  speaking  of  her  happy  Florentine  days, 
Miss  Hosmer  said: 

"  One  day  at  dinner  Mrs.  Browning  said  in  half- 
soliloquy,  '  I  wonder  which  is  the  best  name,  Laura 
Leigh  or  Aurora  Leigh?'  and  asked  both  of  us  our 
opinions.  Browning  gave  his  vote  in  favor  of  Aurora, 
and  I  not  knowing  at  all  to  what  she  referred  and 
thinking  merely  of  the  sound,  said,  '  Oh,  Aurora, 
Laura  Leigh  lacks  backbone.'  When  the  book  was 
published  Mrs.  Browning  remembering  this  casual 
remark  sent  me  a  copy  with  the  message  that  she 
'  hoped  it  contained  backbone.'  " 

Some  memories  of  her  sojourn  with  the  Brown- 
ings in  Florence  were  given  by  Miss  Hosmer  in  the 
"  Youth's  Companion,"  a  few  years  later,  and,  through 
the  courtesy  of  its  editor,  are  repeated  here.  She 
said: 

"  Asked  by  a  friend  to  whom  I  could  not  say 
'  nay '  to  crystallize  certain  memories  connected  with 
Mrs.  Browning,  I  take  from  my  note-book  the  sub- 
stance  of  the   following: 

Nothing  is  more  difficult  than  to  write  of  a  per- 
fectly uneventful,  serenely  happy  life.  Far  easier 
is  it  to  sketch  a  landscape  which  reflects  Nature  in 
her  more  capricious  moods,  than  one  over  which 
reigns  unbroken  sunshine.  Such  was  the  atmosphere 
which  reigned  in  Casa  Guidi.     By  a  kindly  fate  such 


100  HARRIET  HOSMER 

storms  and  clouds  as  usually  attend  human  life 
seemed  arrested  at  its  portal,  while  no  household  care 
or  anxiety  was  ever  suffered,  by  the  most  devoted 
husband  the  world  has  ever  seen,  to  mar  the  sweet 
serenity  of  its  days. 

Mrs.  Browning's  poetry  has  been  analyzed,  her 
person  portrayed,  much  of  her  inner  life  recorded,  in 
her  letters  recently  published,  so  that  to  dwell  upon 
these  topics  would  be  to  produce  no  new  thing.  I 
shall,  therefore,  take  the  reader  into  confidence,  as- 
sume that  he  is  an  intimate  friend  of  all  parties 
herein  mentioned,  and  review  certain  experiences 
connected  with  herself  and  Mr.  Browning  which 
otherwise  could  not  see  the  light,  since  I  am  the  sole 
survivor  of  the  incidents  of  which  I  write. 

The  impression  is  general  that  Mrs.  Browning 
was  of  a  melancholy  cast  of  thought.  '  Cheery,  yes, 
but  could  she  really  laugh?  Has  she  ever  been  known 
to  indulge  in  a  heart}^  burst  of  laughter?'  The 
same  question,  more  than  once,  has  been  addressed 
to  me  in  respect  of  Carlyle,  and  similarly  answered. 
'  What !  the  grim  old  Professor  of  Cheyne  Row 
laugh ! '  Yes,  and  none  more  heartily,  and  so  with 
Mrs.  Browning;  and  none  possessed  a  quicker  sense 
of  the  grotesque,  or  more  keenly  relished  an  ab- 
surdity than  did  she.  Furthermore,  none  could  be 
sad  in  the  constant  presence  of  Mr.  Browning,  whose 
spirits  were  those  of  a  schoolboy,  and  who,  believing 
in  the  efficacy  of  laughter,  encouraged  all  symptoms 
of  hilarity  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Browning.  Perhaps 
her  masterpiece  of  merriment  was  preserved  for  the 
grand  finale  of  an  incident  in  which  Mr.  Browning 
and  I  were  concerned. 

During  the  happy  summer  of  which  I  write,  I 
occupied  certain  rooms  in  the  Villa  Bricchieri,  on 
Bellosguardo,  sharing  the  upper  floor  with  Miss 
Blagden,  the  '  dear  Isa '  so  frequently  mentioned  in 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  101 

Mrs.  Browning's  letters.  From  Bellosguardo  I 
walked  down  every  week-day  morning  to  the  city, 
often  breakfasting  with  Mrs.  Jameson,  who  was  then 
reviewing  her  '  Legendary  Art,'  and  who  occupied 
the  third  floor  of  Casa  Guidi,  spent  the  morning  in 
the  Specolo  studying  anatomy,  and  returned  to  Casa 
Guidi  to  dine  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning.  Up  to 
Bellosguardo  Mr.  Browning,  who  rose  early  and 
was  fond  of  a  morning  walk,  often  came  to  meet  me. 

'  If  there  is  one  thing  my  soul  craves  more  than 
another,'  said  I,  on  one  of  these  occasions,  '  it  is  to 
take  a  turn  in  a  donkey  caretta' 

*  And  so  you  shall,'  said  Mr.  Browning,  *  and  that 
now,  for  there,  just  coming  out  of  the  gate,  is  Giro- 
lomo,  who  every  morning  brings  us  vegetables  to 
Casa  Guidi.  We  will  appropriate  his  caretta,  take 
a  turn  in  it  up  Poggio  Imperiale  toward  his  vigna, 
come  back  and  meet  him.     Hullo  Girolomo ! ' 

Thus  accosted,  Girolomo  paused;  the  proposition 
was  made,  immediately  accepted;  Girolomo  descended 
and  yielded  up  the  reins. 

These  carette,  common  enough  in  Italy,  may  per- 
haps be  best  described  as  barrows,  the  entire  solid 
bottom  of  which  consists  of  a  narrow  plank,  running 
from  end  to  end,  the  rest  being  a  network  of  rope 
upon  which  a  loose  board  is  placed  for  the  feet. 
From  side  to  side  of  the  caretta  extends  another 
board  which  serves  as  seat,  and  which,  obeying  Na- 
ture's laws,  has  a  tendency  to  retreat  in  proportion 
as  the  steed  advances.  On  this  occasion  a  small  heap 
of  vegetables  in  the  after  part  of  the  caretta,  refuse 
of  the  morning  supply,  added  to  the  general  pic- 
turesqueness    of    the    vehicle. 

And  now  for  Girolomo's  donkey:  Let  science 
boast  as  it  may  of  the  marvels  achieved  by  the  X-rays! 
All  that  they  have  achieved — all  they  ever  will 
achieve — sinks    into    nothingness    compared    with    the 


102  HARRIET  HOSMER 

intellectual  achievement  wrought  by  that  donkey  in 
one  instant  of  time.  Although  he  had  not  turned 
his  wicked  little  eye  upom  us,  we,  and  the  whole  sit- 
uation, were  photographed  upon  his  wily  brain.  Be- 
fore placing  one  foot  before  another,  he  had  travelled 
from  Homer  and  Phidias  down,  and  knew  exactly 
of  what  unpractical  stuff  poets  and  sculptors  are 
made.  In  his  wicked  little  mind,  and  before  the  turn 
of  a  hair,  problems  connected,  not  only  with  the 
present  and  the  past,  but  with  futurity,  were  resolved. 

'Will  the  donkey  go  without  you,  Girolomo?'  in- 
quired Mr.  Browning,  at  this  stage  of  the  proceed- 
ings. 

'Oh,  andra-andra! '  (he  will  go)  said  Girolomo, 
with  emphasis.  Oh,  the  sly  Florentine!  How  little 
we  suspected  what  that  emphasis  implied! 

'  We  will  divide  honors,'  said  I  as  we  mounted  the 
equipage.  '  You  take  one  rope-rein  and  I  will  take 
the  other.' 

'  Honors   are   easy,'   said  Mr.   Browning. 

(Note:     Not  so  easy  as  we  thought.) 

A  little  time  passed  in  silence;  perhaps  the  poet 
was  congratulating  himself  upon  having  furnished  a 
prospective  pleasure  to  his  friend;  perhaps  the  sculp- 
tor was  congratulating  herself  upon  the  materializa- 
tion of  a  life-long  ambition;  but  it  is  more  likely  that 
both  were  silently  occupied  in  striving  to  accommo- 
date themselves  to  the  unusual  situation. 

'  Ha ! '  said  Browning,  at  last,  giving  a  fillip  to  his 
one  rope-rein.    '  This  is  great — de  gustihus  non/ 

'  You  had  better  let  go  your  Latin  and  hold  on  to 
your  seat,'  interrupted  the  sculptor.  '  You  do  not 
seem  to  be  aware  that  we  are  being  run  away  with ! ' 

'  Nonsense ! '  said  Browning.  '  The  donkey  knows 
he  is  going  home! ' 

'  He  knows  more  than  that,'  said  I.  '  He  knows 
he  is  master  of  the  situation,'  and  once  more  I  was 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  103 

impressed  with  the  almost  diabolical  intelligence  of  the 
animal,  for,  although  uttered  in  what  to  him  was  a  for- 
eign tongue,  he  grasped  the  whole  pith  of  the  remark, 
starting  off  with  renewed  vehemence  upon  his  flight. 

Silence  again  ensued,  for  the  situation  was  critical. 
Stones  beneath  and  Girolomo's  remaining  vegetables 
from  the  rear,  shot  out  as  if  from  a  catapult;  little 
by  little  the  loose  foot-board,  sole  pivot  of  rest  for 
our  feet,  '  vanished,'  so  far  as  we  were  concerned, 
'  into  tliin  air.'  Little  by  little  our  sliding  seat, 
obeying  Nature's  laws  of  motion,  retreated  with 
constantly  accelerated  strides,  to  the  farthermost  end 
of  the  caretta;  its  next  movement  would  be  to  launch 
its  occupants  into  space.  Phaeton  was  no  longer  a 
mj'^stery  or  myth — he  was  one  with  ourselves. 

'  What  if  we  should  meet  another  caretta  in  this 
narrow  lane?'  said  I. 

'  Or  what  if  our  feet  should  catch  in  the  rope  net 
w^hen  we  are  overturned  ? '  said  Browning,  now  fully 
alive  to  the  true  nature  of  the  situation. 

But  while  Browning,  between  gasps  for  breath, 
was  tiying  to  reconcile  this  contingency  with  the  dead 
Hector  at  the  chariot-wheel  of  Achilles,  the  donkey, 
by  an  abrupt  halt  at  the  gate  of  his  own  vineyard, 
taught  us  the  true  nature  of  centrifugal  force. 

'  Dio  7iiio!  Cos-e '  said  a  voice  belonging  to  a 
head  which  suddenly  appeared  at  an  upper  window 
of  the  tenuta.  '  San  Antonio!  It  is  Signor  Brown- 
ing! '  and  the  next  minute  clattering  feet  told  us  of 
the  swift  approach  of  Assunta,  wife  of  Girolomo,  to 
whom   the   voice    and   head   belonged. 

Italians  are  quick  at  the  uptake,  and  aided  by  a 
few  words  from  INIr.  Browning,  Assunta  compre- 
hended in  a  moment  the  whole  situation.  '  Oh,  was 
there  anything  like  the  impertinence  of  animals? ' 
But  of  all  hestie  imperiinente,  this  beast  of  Girolo- 
mo's   was    the    worst.      He    was    an    animal    without 


104  HARRIET  HOSMER 

moral  sense.  There  was  notliing  to  appeal  to  in  his 
composition.  He  was  base  from  his  head  to  his  tail. 
He  was  not  an  animal  at  all;  he  was  an  evil  spirit 
in  disguise,  and  Assunta  concluded  the  list  of  his 
diabolical  attributes  by  calling  upon  the  Madonna 
to  witness  that  he  was  a  disgrace  to  nature. 

Time  was  passing, — it  was  far  beyond  the  break- 
fast hour, — and  we  began  to  adjust  the  disordered 
caretta,  preparatory  to  our  return.  Did  we  think  to 
drive  back?  What  was  mere  human  intelligence  com- 
pared with  the  subtle  intellect  of  that  animal  who  had 
concocted  and  digested  his  entire  programme  in  that 
brief  moment  at  the  city  gate? 

Assunta  was  the  chief  actor  in  the  return  drama; 
all  physical  effort  having  failed,  her  last  resort  was 
moral  suasion.  Did  he  know  that  fire  could  melt 
from  off  the  gate  his  maladetto  snout?  Was  he  aware 
that  it  could  be  severed  from  his  body,  remaining 
forever  where  he  had  placed  it,  and  countless  horrors 
of  the  same  nature?  Not  a  wince  on  the  part  of  the 
donkey — not  the  turn  of  a  hair.  The  quarries  of 
Carrara  were  pliability  itself  compared  with  the 
stolidity  of  that  animal. 

Convinced  that  Assunta's  efforts,  however  well  di- 
rected, would  prove  fruitless,  we  accepted  the  only 
alternative  of  returning  on  foot.  So,  bidding  good- 
bye to  Assunta,  who  again  called,  not  only  upon  the 
Madonna,  but  upon  all  the  saints  to  witness  that 
she  never  again  would  have  a  dry  eye,  since  the 
Signor  Browning  and  the  signorina  were  forced  to 
walk  back,  we  turned  our  faces,  wiser  if  not  sadder 
Florentines,  toward  the  city  gate. 

Strewn  along  the  road  at  frequent  intervals  were 
vestiges  of  our  creation — cabbage-leaves,  stalks  of 
fennel,  here  and  there  a  potato  marked  our  flying 
progress;  and  Browning,  who,  although  usually  de- 
precating  the   practice,    sometimes   descended   to   the 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  105 

level  of  a  pun,  said  something  in  an  undertone  about 
Marius  and  the  ruins  of  Cart-age. 

Farther  on  we  met  Girolomo,  who,  with  an  expres- 
sion half-mischievous,  half-compassionate,  inquired 
how  we  had  enjoyed  our  drive. 

Mr.  Browning  made  a  condensed  report  of  the  per- 
formance, and  added  that  the  combined  efforts  of 
Assunta,  of  the  Signorina  and  of  himself  had  failed 
to  detach  the  donkey's  nose  from  the  vineyard  gate. 

'  Ah,  Signor,'  said  Girolomo  ( Oh,  the  sly  Flor- 
entine!), 'I  said  "  andra — andra"  (he  will  go).  I 
never  said  he  would  coine!' 

'What  has  happened?'  inquired  Mrs.  Browning, 
with  much  concern,  connecting  our  generally  be- 
draggled appearance  with  the  lateness  of  the  hour. 

*  Nothing  has  happened,  Ba,'  said  Mr.  Browning, 
reassuringly,  '  but  not  a  word  till  after  breakfast, 
for   we    are   famished.' 

Breakfast  over,  Mr.  Browning,  having  cautioned 
me  to  say  nothing,  disappeared,  but  presently  re- 
turned with  a  rope,  a  few  boards,  and  a  dish  of 
vegetables, — fruit  of  a  raid  upon  the  kitchen,  and 
which  methought  were  strangely  akin  to  those  of 
Girolomo. 

'Robert,  are  you  out  of  your  mind?'  asked  Mrs. 
Browning,  gazing  with  amazement  at  the  picture  Mr. 
Browning  presented. 

*  Not  more  than  usual,  Ba,'  was  the  reply;  and 
requesting  her  not  to  enter  the  library  till  called  for, 
he  beckoned  me  to  follow. 

Then  how  I  did  admire  the  ingenuity  of  that  man! 
In  less  time  than  I  can  describe  it,  appeared  an 
excellent  reproduction  of  Girolomo's  cart,  a  sliding 
seat,  which  afterward  enacted  a  most  important 
part  in  the  drama,  being  justly  pronounced  of  first 
necessity;  and  a  heavy  piece  of  carved  furniture,  to 


106  HARRIET  HOSMER 

which  the  reins  were  attached,  served  as  the  imaginary 
steed. 

'  Ba,  you  wanted  to  know  what  happened  tliis 
morning,'   said   ]Mr.    Browning,   when   all   was   ready. 

*  Well,  we  took  a  drive  in  Girolomo's  caretta,  and  the 
donkey  ran  away  with  us,  and  this  is  what  happened.' 

Then  was  reenacted  the  morning's  flight.  Brown- 
ing, who  was  a  capital  actor  and  possessed  the  keen- 
est sense  of  the  ridiculous,  was  inimitable  in  his  role, 
pouring  forth  in  Greek,  Latin,  and  the  vernacular 
a  torrent  of  threats,  entreaties,  and  exhortations^  ad- 
dressed indiscriminately  to  the  donkey,  to  Girolomo, 
and  to  San  Antonio,  while  the  clattering  feet,  of  the 
donkey,  produced  by  an  ingenious  device  indicating 
gradually  accelerated  speed,  heightened  the  general 
effect  and  formed  a  running  accompaniment  to  the 
recitative.  A  fine  touch  of  realism  was  introduced 
by  the  vegetables,  wliich,  at  stated  intervals,  but  with 
utter  disregard  of  Mrs.  Browning's  safety,  were 
hurled  about  the  room.  No  detail  was  lacking  which 
could  render  illusion  perfect,  the  catastrophe  being 
reached  in  the  sudden  centrifugal  impetus  caused  by 
the  abrupt  halt  at  the  vineyard  gate. 

*  Nothing  does  Ba  so  much  good  as  a  good  laugh, 
said  Mr.   Browning,  gazing  with  satisfaction  at  her 
helpless    condition    and    at   her   face   glistening   with 
tears,  '  and  I  will  set  this  down  as  the  laugh  of  her 
life.' 

'  He  laughs  best  who  laughs  last,'  but  it  was  diffi- 
cult on  that  occasion  to  say  who  laughed  last. 

'  You  see,  Ba,'  said  Mr.  Browning,  solemnly, 
again   descending   from    the   plane    of   high   intellect, 

*  it  was  not  the  flight  of  the  Erl  King,  but  the  flight 
of  the  Erl-y  Birds.' 


>    55 


Later  Miss  Hosmer  wrote  for  the  same  friend  of 
a  Roman  experience.     She  said: 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  107 

"  Removed  in  time  and  space  but  not  in  spirit  was 
a  trip  to  Albano. 

It  must  alwaj^s  be  pleasant  for  Americans  to  re- 
member that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning  never  ceased 
to  express  their  appreciation  of  the  generosity  of 
their  American  publishers.  '  More  than  any  others,' 
1  have  often  heard  them  say,  '  have  they  been  cour- 
teous to  us,  invariably  leaving  us  their  debtors.' 

And  so  one  day  Mr.  Browning  came  to  my  studio 
in  liigh  glee  with,  '  Next  Saturday  Ba  and  I  are 
going  to  Albano  on  a  picnic  till  Monday,  and  you 
and  Leighton  are  to  go  with  us.' 

'Why  this  extravagance?'  quoth  I. 

*  On  account  of  this — '  and  he  drew  from  his  pocket 
a  bit  of  paper  which  represented  a  check  from  Messrs. 
Ticknor  &  Fields.  '  All  their  own  buona  grazia/ 
said  ]Mr.  Browning.  '  Not  in  the  least  obliged  to  do 
this,  but  this  is  the  way  they  always  do  things.' 

On  the  appointed  day  a  carriage  might  have  been 
seen  issuing  from  the  Porta  San  Giovanni  contain- 
ing four  persons — two  poets,  a  painter,  and  a  sculp- 
tor, all  primed  for  pleasure  and  adventure.  All  cares 
and  anxieties  were  left  behind  on  that  sweet  May 
day  as  useless  luggage.  Chatting  pleasantly,  the 
excursionists  soon  arrived  at  the  first  object  of  interest 
that  stood  on  the  Albano  road — an  old,  dilapidated 
edifice,  bearing  on  its  front,  traced  in  rude  letters, 
the  ominous  inscription,  '  Casa  dei  Sjjiriti '  ( House 
of  Ghosts). 

However  tragic  the  legend  which  marks  the  spot 
may  be,  the  place  is  now  transformed  into  a  cheery 
Ostcria  (or  cafe),  its  ancient  history  finding  expres- 
sion only  in  a  lugubrious  procession  of  spectres  wliich 
adorns  its  outer  walls. 

'  The  spirits  seem  a  lively  set,'  said  the  future 
president  of  the  Royal  Academy,  as  a  burst  of  laugh- 
ter issued  from  the  door  of  the  Osteria. 


108  HARRIET  HOSMER 

'  Spirits  are  of  two  kinds,'  said  Browning,  solemnly. 
'  I  confess  I  see  and  hear  nothing  to  suggest  a 
shadowy  occupant,'  said  Mrs.  Browning,  as  a  second 
peal  of  laughter  followed  the  first. 

'  None  the  less,'  said  the  sculptor,  '  the  site  has 
preserved  its  ghostly  reputation  for  centuries,  but  it 
is  to  the  old  overhanging  cliff  that  supernatural 
reminiscences  are  attached.  To  it,  tradition  assigns 
a  most  pathetic  history.' 

'  Ah,  the  cliff  does  look  much  more  canny,'  said 
Mrs.  Browning.  '  Yes,  I  can  quite  fancy  the  grim 
old  pile  containing  some  awful  secret.  How  it  juts 
forward,  as  if  impelled  by  an  irresistible  impulse  to 
fall  and  disclose  its  knowledge  to  the  world! ' 

'  You  have  already  half-divined  the  story,'  said 
the  sculptor. 

'  Give  us  the  other  half ! '  said  all,  in  chorus ;  in- 
specting the  premises  with  that  interest  which  any 
site  connected  with  a  ghost  never  fails  to  inspire  in 
the  minds  of  even  the  most  practical. 

'  All  in  good  time,'  was  the  answer.  '  The  old  cliff 
furnishes  merely  the  connecting  link  of  the  story; 
we  shall  find  preface  and  catastrophe  further  on.' 

Then  we  passed  long  lines  of  wine-carts  making 
for  Rome;  as  often  as  not,  the  padrone,  lost  in  easy 
slumber,  was  leaving  to  the  little  Lupetto  dog,  with 
red  collar  and  tinkling  bells,  the  task  of  guarding, 
and  to  his  intelligent  oxen  the  task  of  guiding  his 
vehicle. 

Then  the  line  of  the  great  Claudian  aqueduct, 
whose  stately  arches  form  fitting  portals  to  the  blue 
heaven  beyond.  Then  groups  of  Campagna  laborers, 
men  and  women,  all  dressed  in  the  picturesque  cos- 
tume of  their  class,  decked  with  flowers  and  singing 
their  pretty  native  songs,  interrupted  only  by  the 
courteous  greeting  as  we  pass  by.  Then  the  long  line 
of  the  Alban  and  Sabine  hills,  too  serene  to  be  dis- 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  109 

turbed  by  either  the  joys  or  sorrows  of  mortals;  and 
thus  we  reached  the  Albano  gate,  where  old  Giovanni, 
the  well-known  donkey  guide,  sat,  like  Belisarius, 
but  with  keener  vision,  which  enabled  him  to  select 
from  among  the  many  travellers  those  most  likely 
to  want  a  donkey  on  the  morrow. 

After  dining  at  the  Hotel  Parigi,  we  descended 
to  the  terraced  garden,  where,  among  other  topics, 
were  discussed  the  relative  difficulties  of  the  arts; 
and  it  was  interesting  to  note  that  each  representative 
considered  his  art  the  most  difficult.  The  poets  sug- 
gested that  poetry  was  more  difficult  than  either 
sculpture  or  painting,  since  from  the  imponderable 
essence  of  words  must  be  evolved  intelligible  sub- 
stance. The  sculptor,  on  the  other  hand,  regretted 
the  absence  of  this  same  pliant  imponderability  in  the 
rigid  substances  of  bronze  and  marble.  The  painter 
eschewed  the  imponderables  and  dwelt  upon  mere 
practical,  technical  difficulties,  distribution  of  color, 
foreshortening,  and  the  like.  In  the  end,  the  palm 
for  really  sensible  criticism,  7nultum  in  pai'vo,  was 
yielded  to  old  King  Ludwig  of  Bavaria,  poet  and 
artist,  rather  than  statesman,  who,  in  conversation 
one  day  with  the  writer,  declared  that  '  We  esteem 
most  difficult  the  art  we  love  best  because  therein 
we  are  most   critical.' 

The  next  morning  Browning  declared  that  old 
Giovanni  had  been  looking  in  at  Iiis  window  all  night 
to  catch  his  eye  at  daybreak  before  other  competitors 
could  extol  the  virtues  of  their  donkeys.  However 
that  may  be,  the  quartette  was  soon  mounted  and  on 
its  winding  way.  We  skirted  the  Alban  Lake,  passed 
the  JNIonastery  of  Palazzuolo,  where  certain  of  the 
Padres,  sunning  themselves  on  their  little  green 
loggia,  gave  us  "^  Buon  giorno ' ;  climbed  the  ruggedly 
paved  steps  of  Rocca  di  Papa,  emerged  upon  the 
camping-ground    of    Hannibal,    silently    passed    the 


110  HARRIET  HOSMER 

young  acolytes  of  the  church,  who,  by  superior  com- 
mand, turn  their  backs  upon  all  representatives  of 
the  female  sex,  and  treading  the  now  narrow  moss- 
grown  path  over  which,  in  the  olden  time,  marched 
Rome's  minor  triumphs,  reached  the  height  from 
which  Monte  Cavo  unrolls  her  magnificent  panorama, 
recording  a  page  of  history  unrivalled  in  the  world. 
Below  us  on  Alba  Longa  dwelt,  as  shepherds,  those 
who  first  traced  the  map  of  Rome.  On  the  left 
sparkled  Nemi,  '  Diana's  Mirror,'  still  guarding,  be- 
neath her  blue  waters,  the  enamel  decked  yachts 
of  Caligula.  Far  off  was  Pratica,  where  JSneas 
landed,  and  Antium,  beloved  of  Nero;  and  nearer, 
Lavinia,  who  still  disputes  with  Pratica  the  honor  of 
first  sheltering  the  hero,  and  preserves,  in  proof  of 
priority  and  as  her  most  precious  possession,  the 
very  ring  to  which  he  moored  liis  bark. 

Yet  all  this  history  of  bygone  times  seemed  com- 
pressed into  yesterday  as  we  turned  to  the  right  and 
viewed  the  vast  stretch  of  Campagna,  whose  gentle 
undulations — as  if  nature,  by  a  sudden  fantasy,  had 
resolved  her  sea-green  waves  into  sea-green  sward — 
recall  that  dim  age  when  this  portion  of  our  planet, 
so  rich  in  human  events,  was  still  unprepared  for 
the  food  of  man. 

So  passed  the  morning,  until  a  generous  hamper 
exploited  under  a  spreading  chestnut  reminded  us  of 
mundane   things. 

'  Now,  Hatty,  give  us  your  story,'  said  Mrs. 
Browning.  '  If  it  is  a  pretty  story,  what  place  more 
fit  than  this  ? ' 

'  Unfortunately,  my  story  requires  illustration,' 
was  the  answer,  '  and  even  this  wealth  of  pictorial  art 
does  not  furnish  the  desideratum.  Rather  let  us  call 
upon  Giovanni  for  a  story.  He  is  not  himself  if  he 
is  not  equal  to  the  occasion.' 

To   appreciate   fully   Giovanni's   story,   it   must  be 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  111 

remembered  that  at  the  time  of  which  we  write  Italy, 
was  in  a  state  of  revolutionaiy  ferment,  authorities 
being   on   constant   watch   for   poHtical   offenders. 

Called  to  the  front,  Giovanni,  with  a  fine  show  of 
mock  modesty,  for  nothing  pleased  him  so  much  as 
to  relate  his  experiences,  began,  with  terrible  earnest- 
ness and  with  a  profound  salaam  at  each  mention  of 
the  '  Signor  Sindaco  ' : 

'  Last  week,  O  signori,  I  was  granted  an  inter- 
view with  the  Signor  Sindaco.  "  I  have  come,  Signor 
Sindaco,"  says  I,  "to  make  a  disclosure  affecting 
the  safety  of  one  of  the  best-known  citizens  of  Al- 
bano." 

' "  Dio  mio,  Giovanni,"  says  Signor  Sindaco,  "  what 
has  come  to  your  knowledge?  In  these  troublous 
times  one  cannot  be  too  alert." 

'"Too  true,  Signor  Sindaco!"  says  I.  "When 
I  go  to  bed  at  night  I  never  know  whether  I  shall 
awake   in   the   morning   alive   or   dead." 

' "  Speak  freely,  Giovanni,"  says  the  Signor  Sin- 
daco. "  You  well  know  that  if  you  can  make  any 
disclosure  affecting  the  well-being  of  Albano,  you 
will    be   well    rewarded." 

'  "  Blood,  Signor  Sindaco,"  says  I,  "  and  without 
warning, — it  cannot  be  otherwise, — but  my  disclosure 
is  confidential!  " 

'  "  Let  all  leave  the  room,"  says  the  Signor  Sindaco, 
and  Sua  Eccellenza  and  I  are  alone. 

' "  Well,  Signor  Sindaco,"  says  I,  "  I  have  come 
to  inform  you  that  if  that  wicked  shoemaker,  who  has 
been  promising  me  my  new  boots  for  a  fortnight,  does 
not  bring  them  home  by  Saturday  next  I  am  going 
to  kill  him!"' 

'  It's  a  pity,  O  signori,'  said  Giovanni,  as  we  were 
returning  home  late  that  afternoon,  encouraged  per- 
haps by  the  reception  given  to  his  interview  with 
the    Signor    Sindaco,   '  that   you   cannot   be   here   this 


112  HARRIET  HOSMER 

evening  to  hear  the  cuckoo  call.  His  voice  is  like  a 
silver  trumpet — like  this,  O  signori,'  and  Giovanni 
emitted  a  sound  which  caused  Browning,  in  an  aside, 
to  inquire  if  the  Bull  of  Bashan  was  tethered  in  the 
Alban  woods. 

The  next  morning  little  was  done,  as  the  drive 
home  was  to  take  place  in  the  afternoon,  but  I  pro- 
duced a  certain  book  which,  with  wise  provision,  I 
had  insinuated  into  my  travelling-bag;  and  after 
much  persuasion  Browning  read  us  the  whole  of  his 
magnificent   poem   of   Saul. 

Then  came  dinner,  then  preparations  for  depart- 
ure; and  our  delightful  stay  in  Albano  became  a 
thing  of  the  past. 

'  Now,'  said  the  sculptor,  as,  reaching  the  well- 
known  '  Tor  di  Mezza  Via '  (the  half-way  house  be- 
tween Rome  and  Albano),  the  coachman  paused  to 
breathe  his  horses,  '  now  for  the  story  ' ;  and  bidding 
the  trio  follow,  she  crossed  the  little  brook  at  the 
base  of  the  fine  old  bit  of  aqueduct  and  mounted  the 
hill  opposite  the  Osteria.  '  Now,'  she  said,  pointing 
to  one  of  the  ruins  which  stand  upon  the  Appian 
Way,  '  what  does  that  old  ruin  suggest  to  you? ' 

'  A  human  head ! '  exclaimed  Mr.  Browning. 

'  Yes,  a  human  head,'  added  Mrs.  Browning.  '  In 
a  dimmer  light  illusion  must  be  perfect.' 

'  A  human  head ! '  echoed  Leighton.  '  I  wonder 
I  never  noted  the  resemblance  before,  but  I  never 
saw  the  old  ruin  from  this  point  of  view.' 

'  Let  us  seat  ourselves  here,'  said  the  sculptor,  se- 
lecting a  shady  nook  under  one  of  the  old  ruined 
archways,  '  and  I  will  tell  you  the  story  which  con- 
nects this  spot  with  the  "  Casa  dei  Spiriti." 

'  Centuries  ago,  when  this  desolate  Campagna  was 
crowned  with  magnificent  villas  and  teemed  with 
human  hfe,  a  certain  Apuleius,  a  noble  Roman  who 
held  high  office  under  the  Emperor  Domitian,  dwelt 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  113 

upon  this  very  site.  Apuleius  had  but  one  child — a 
daughter  so  beautiful  that  throughout  the  empire  she 
was  known  as  the  beautiful  Apuleia.  For  tliis  child 
the  fond  father  conceived  a  most  exalted  destiny. 
Nay,  he  even  dreamed,  as  the  emperor  was  known  to 
be  susceptible  to  the  influence  of  female  charms,  that 
the  imperial  purple  lay  within  her  grasp.  What, 
then,  was  his  rage  and  mortification  when  Apuleia 
declared  that  she  had  already  bestowed  her  heart 
upon  Belisarius,  a  young  captain  in  the  imperial 
army,  and  that  while  he  lived  she  would  espouse  no 
other  man! 

*  In  vain  did  Apuleius,  by  entreaty,  remonstrance, 
and  threats,  oppose  the  resolution  of  his  daughter. 
Apuleia  remained  immovable,  and  the  father,  per- 
ceiving that  he  had  no  other  means  of  ridding  him- 
self of  the  unwelcome  suitor,  caused  Belisarius  to  be 
barbarously  murdered  and  his  body  to  be  concealed 
under  the  overhanging  cliff  near  the  well-known 
"  Casa  dei  Spiriti."  Apuleia,  overwhelmed  with 
grief  at  the  continued  absence  of  Belisarius,  and  fear- 
ing that  some  ill-fortune  had  befallen  him,  withdrew 
to  a  lonely  tower  in  the  west  wing  of  the  mansion, 
and  there  kept  faithful  watch,  awaiting  her  lover's 
return.  But  death  soon  closed  her  weary  vigils,  and 
her  father,  in  his  remorse  and  despair,  erected  a  mag- 
nificent monument  to  her  memory,  of  which  nothing 
remains   save  yonder  ruin. 

'  But  tradition  asserts  that  as  the  monument  fell 
into  decaj^  the  crumbling  stones  gradually  assumed 
the  features  of  the  beautiful  Apuleia,  her  gaze  still 
turned  westward,  still  waiting  her  lover's  return,  as 
if  kindly  nature,  touched  by  the  poor  girl's  sorrow 
and  devotion,  had  wrought  for  her  out  of  the  veiy 
ruin  of  her  life  an  enduring  immortality;  and  to  this 
day  the  beautiful  Apuleia  is  known  as  "  the  weird 
watcher  of  the  Roman  Campagna."  ' 


114  HARRIET  HOSMER 

'  That  is  a  charming  old  legend,'  said  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing, when  the  story  was  told  and  we  had  entered  the 
carriage  and  driven  some  distance  in  silence.  '  I 
never  heard  it  before.' 

'  The  story  is  not  so  well  known  as  it  deserves 
to  be,'  said  the  sculptor.  '  I  often  think  what  an 
exquisite  poem  might  be  wrought  out  of  its  delicate 
materials — too  delicate  for  any  but  the  poet's  art.' 

'  You  are  right,'  said  Mrs.  Browning,  gazing  with 
renewed  interest  at  the  old  ruin.  '  Did  stone  ever 
imprison  so  much  wistful  earnestness,  so  much  weary 
longing,  as  does  that  poor,  shattered  form,  old  and 
gray  and  mutilated  by  centuries?' 

'  There  is  Apuleia,'  said  Mr.  Browning,  as  some 
days  after  this  conversation  we  were  walking  upon 
the  Campagna  and  came  in  view  of  the  ruin. 

'  Don't  forget  the  poem,'   said  I. 

*  Ah,  that's  Ba's,'  said  Mr.  Browning.  '  She  means 
to  record  the  legend.     You  will  see.' 

But  too  quickly  came  another  recording  angel,  and 
Apuleia  still  waits  a  worthy  historian." 


CHAPTER  V 

1857-1860 
TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Rome,  Nov.,  1857. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

I  want  to  tell  you  of  sometliing  which  I  think  will 
please  you,  viz.  a  commission  I  have  received  to  make 
a  monument  for  the  Church  of  San  Andrea  delle 
Fratte  here.  Madame  Falconnet,  who  has  just  lost 
a  daughter,  has  obtained  permission  to  have  a  monu- 
ment erected  to  her  memory  in  this  church,  and  has 
desired  me  to  make  it.  It  is  to  be  a  sleeping  statue 
of  the  j^oung  girl,  who  (so  much  the  better  for  me) 
was  most  lovely.  The  statue  is  to  be  placed  upon  a 
sarcophagus,  and  they  have  given  us  room  enough 
to  make  an  arch  over  it,  so  that  we  can  have  a  back- 
ground of  darker  marble,  which  will  be  a  great  thing 
for  the  figure.  The  place  is  good  and  the  light 
magnificent.  I  shall  endeavor  to  exhaust  myself  on 
the  work,  •  only  saving  enough  of  my  corporeal  and 
mental  strength  to  drag  my  bones  to  St.  Louis  next 
year  to  behold  you  once  more.  I  am  very  busy  now, 
making  a  sketch  of  it  (the  monument,  not  the  drag- 
ging of  my  bones),  and  my  hands  will  be  full  for 
the  winter. 

How  I  enAy  you  having  Mrs.  Kemble  with  you  in 
St.  Louis,  and  hearing  her  read.  Unfortunately  we 
can't  be  in  two  places  at  one  time,  until  we  are  little 
cherubs  with  wings  and  no  places  to  sit  down  upon. 

*This  is  the  first  instance  of  any  but  an  Italian  artist  having  been  permitted 
to  place  a  monument  in  one  of  the  churches  of  Rome. 

115 


116  HARRIET  HOSMER 

She  will  be  with  you  when  you  get  this,  and  you 
must  say  eveiything  that  is  loving  from  me,  to  her. 
The  time  is  approaching  when  I  must  be  thinking 
of  a  studio  for  myself,  for  when  my  works  increase, 
I  must  have  more  room.  JNIy  master  now  says  this 
too,  and  for  several  reasons  it  might  be  better  to 
hang  out  my  own  shingle.  Mr.  Gibson  would  not  con- 
sider me  less  a  pupil,  so  that  I  should  have  still  the 
benefit  of  his  advice  and  instruction,  and  at  the  same 
time  not  be  considered  by  others  a  beginner,  as  of 
course  I  shall  be,  as  long  as  I  am  with  him.  This 
Avas  long  a  forbidden  subject,  he  would  not  listen  to 
the  proposition,  saying  I  was  not  strong  enough  to 
go  alone,  which  certainly  was  very  true,  but  now  it 
is  he  who  proposes  it,  so  I  tell  you,  though  I  have 
not  said  a  word  to  my  dear  father  yet,  who  has  some 
latent  idea  that  I  may  settle  down  in  America.  But 
it  pleases  me  to  give  you  a  positive  proof  that  my 
master  thinks  I  am  progressing. 

Yours,  H. 

TO  MISS  DUNDAS. 

Rome,  Dec.  13,   (1857). 
My  dear  A ; 

The  more  intimately  you  become  acquainted  with 
me,  the  more  fully  you  will  be  persuaded  of  the  fact 
that  you  have  a  friend  who  knows  what  she  should 
do  and  who  never  does  it.  Now  duty  and  conviction 
have  been  whispering  to  me  for  a  long  time  that  my 
field  of  action  was  on  a  piece  of  paper,  my  weapon 
a  pen,  and  that  my  opponent  was  yourself,  but  I  have 
been  so  terribly  busy  of  late  that  I  have  been  neglect- 
ing everything  and  doing  nothing,  which  often  hap- 
pens when  you  try  to  do  too  much. 

First  of  all,  I  wish  to  address  myself  to  Mrs. 
Emily,  and  to  thank  her  most  sincerely  for  her  tender 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  117 

affection  for  me,  manifested  in  the  form  of  a  whip 
which  I  earnestly  desire  to  possess  myself  of,  for  do 
you  know,  Mr.  Gibson,  true  to  himself,  came  away 
and  left  it  in  London.  He  has  written  to  have  it 
sent  to  Rome,  and  I  am  looking  most  impatiently  for 
its  advent.  Tell  her,  that  I  have  a  perfect  little 
"Puck";  a  little  fellow  I  found  and  fell  in  love  with 
in  Albano,  a  wonderful  pony  whose  only  fault  is  in 
being  too  small,  but  strong  as  an  elephant,  full  of 
wickedness,  and  is  beginning  to  jump  like  a  cat. 
Though  my  new  whip  was  to  be  sacred  to  the  train- 
ing of  his  youthful  qualities,  I  think  I  shall  reserve 
it  fpr  the  winter,  when  I  shall  have  a  fine  horse  and 
indulge  in  the  wholesome  amusement  of  the  chase, 
and  it  would  be  a  great  comfort  to  me  to  break  or 
dislocate  some  of  my  bones  under  its  immediate 
supervision.  Ask  her  if  I  may  do  so,  or  if,  in  spar- 
ing its  lash  on  the  back  of  my  little  "  Puck,"  I  shall 
prove  myself  false  to  her  and  to  the  pony? 

Of  course  you  know  all  about  poor  Julie  Falcon- 
net's  death,  and  perhaps  you  know  that  I  am  to  make 
her  monument.  It  is  to  be  a  sleeping  statue  of  her, 
and  I  have  this  day  finished  the  sketch,  though 
Madame  Falconnet  has  not  yet  seen  it.  I  have  rep- 
resented her  lying  on  a  couch,  the  little  feet  crossed 
and  a  chaplet  in  one  hand,  while  the  other  has  fallen 
by  her  side.  The  dress  is  modern,  of  course,  but  very 
simple,  with  long  flowing  sleeves  which  compose 
well;  that  is  all  of  it,  and  the  beauty  of  the  thing 
must  depend  on  the  fidelity  with  which  I  render  the 
delicacy  and  elegance  of  her  figure.  A  mask  of  her 
face  was  taken  after  death,  which  is  very  good,  and 
that,  with  the  bust,  will  enable  me  to  get  a  good 
likeness  of  her.  They  have  given  me  a  capital  place 
in  the  church  (of  San  Andrea  delle  Fratfe)  with  a 
beautiful  fight,  and  you  may  be  sure  I  shall  spare 
neither  time  nor  patience  on  the  work,   but   do   the 


118  HARRIET  HOSMER 

best  I  can  for  divers  reasons,  not  the  least  of  which 
is  to  prove  to  JNIadame  Falconnet  that  I  am  grateful 
to  her  for  the  confidence  she  has  shown  in  me;  for  it 
is  not  as  if  I  were  an  old  and  experienced  artist. 
Besides,  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  have  a  work  of 
mine  in  Rome,  and  such  a  hella  comhinatione  can- 
not occur  again. 

I  have  begun  a  has  relief  of  "  Night  rising  with  the 
Stars,"  but  was  forced  to  suspend  operations  in  that 
quarter  till  I  had  made  the  sketch  for  the  monument, 
and  while  it  is  being  set  up  in  grand,  I  shall  finish 
the  former. 

Are  you  training  that  wonderful  little  dog  for  me? 
And  has  he  attained  to  that  point  in  his  education  at 
which  he  can  strike  with  diagonal  precision  across  a 
piazza?  This  is  but  a  shabbj^  letter,  but  you  will 
pardon  it  when  I  tell  j^ou  that  I  have  so  much  to  do 
that  I  have  no  time  for  sleeping,  even,  and  that  at 
this  present  moment,  it  is  ten  minutes  to  one,  dopo 
mezza  notte. 

I  have  made  two  more  compositions  for  has  reliefs, 
one  a  pastoral  subject,  the  other,  "  The  Falling  Star," 
which  one  of  these  days  I  will  describe  to  you.  .  .  . 
Now  hold  me,  Ever  yours,  H. 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 

j^^^^  ^^  Rome,  Jan.  8,   (1858). 

Now  I  have  no  news,  nothing  but  stupidity  and 
affection  and  "  Happy  New  Year."  If  there  is  any 
truth  in  magnetism  and  spiritual  communion,  you 
already  know  that  I  thought  of  you  and  pra^^ed  that 
all  blessings  might  be  showered  upon  you  and  that 
all  good  angels  might  guard  you.  I  so  often  think 
of  your  life  away  in  your  quiet  home,  and  muse  how 
different  it  is  from  mine  with  all  the  cares  of  work 
and  the   dissipations  of  gay  society;   for  let   me   do 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  119 

my  best,  I  am  tempted  into  them,  and  to  a  certain 
extent  I  suppose  it  is  right  to  indulge  in  social  gay- 
eties,  but  the  difficulty  is  to  draw  the  line  between 
just  enough  and  too  much.  Wliile  you,  you  are  as 
quiet  and  snug  as  can  be,  looking  upon  the  anxieties 
and  vexations  of  the  great  world  hke  a  calm  philoso- 
pher who  is  great  in  the  attainment  of  all  he  cares  for 
tliis  side  of  the  grave.  ...  I  am  looking  for  you 
and  the  Pater  over  here  next  sunmier.  I  ^dll  meet 
vou  wherever  vou  sav,  this  side  the  Atlantic,  and 
you  shall  be  escorted  (to  Rome)  by  a  guardia  as 
nohile  as  the  Pope's.  You  don't  tliink  me  a  domestic 
character,  but  you  shall  see  my  talents  in  that  ca- 
pacity called  into  play,  and  when  that  is  the  case, 
the  play  is  no  joke.  .  .  . 

And  how  in  this  New  Year  grows  my  little  girl, 
with  her  bright  little  head  sunning  over  "uith  curls? 
Only  yesterday  I  was  looking  at  the  golden  curl 
you  sent  me,  which  shone  like  an  opal.  Fancy  our 
grizzly  locks  having  been  once  of  the  same  color  and 
having  rejoiced  our  mothers'  hearts  in  the  same  way! 
But  no  little  head  ever  curled  like  that  before,  to  mv 
eye,  and  no  Httle  wit  was  ever  so  sharp  underneath 
it.  Give  those  soft  cheeks  a  shower  of  kisses  for  her 
old  Aunt  Hat.  _  _  ^^j; 

1  our  H. 

TO  MRS.   WAYMAN  CROW. 

Rome,  Feb.,  1858. 
Dear  Mrs.  Crow: 

Before  you  get  this  I  shall  be  as  deep  in  Palmy- 
rene  soil  as  the  old  monks  of  the  Cappucini  are  in 
the  soil  of  Jerusalem  I  have  not  yet  begun  the 
Zenobia,  as  I  am  waiting  for  a  cast  of  the  coin;  not 
that,  as  a  portrait,  it  ^\^ll  be  of  great  value  to  me 
now,   but   the   character   of   the   head   determines    the 


120  HARRIET  HOSMER 

character  of  the  figure.  When  I  was  in  Florence, 
I  searched  in  the  Pitti  and  the  MagHabecchian 
Libraries  for  costume  and  liints,  but  found  nothing 
at  all  satisfactory.  I  was  bordering  on  a  state  of 
desperation,  when  Professor  Nigliarini,  who  is  the 
best  of  authorities  in  such  matters,  told  me  if  I  copied 
the  dress  and  ornaments  of  the  Madonna  in  the  old 
mosaic  of  San  Marco,  it  would  be  the  very  thing,  as 
she  is  represented  in  Oriental  regal  costume.  I  went 
and  found  it.  It  is  invaluable;  requiring  little  change, 
except  a  large  mantle  thrown  over  all.  The  orna- 
ments are  quite  the  thing;  very  rich  and  very  Eastern, 
with    just    such    a    girdle    as    is    described    in    Vo- 

P'^"^"^-  •  •  •  Yours,  H. 

ROBERT  BROWNING  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Dearest  Hattie:^  Florej.ce,  Feb.  21,  '58. 

Two  months  since  you  wrote!  and  not  two  days, — 
indeed  no! — in  all  the  time  since,  that  I  have  been 
intending  and  intending  to  answer  you.  The  last 
reason  is  the  best — I  have  been  gripped,  and  in  a  vile 
condition  altogether,  these  three  or  four  weeks — and 
Penini  added  very  unnecessarily  to  our  bother  by 
going  through  the  same  complaint  with  characteristic 
variations,  the  end  being  that  he  has  lost  the  Carnival 
at  the  same  time  as  his  cold.  I  wish  we  had  been  in 
Rome  or  Egypt  or  anywhere  rather  than  here,  but 
it  can't  be  helped  now. 

What  a  darling  you  will  be  if  you  just  write  us 
a  half  a  page  about  yourself.  Are  you  well  and 
happy?  Do  you  work  to  your  heart's  content? 
Have  you  thought  of  any  other  subject?  I  happen 
to  know  you  are  well,  however — Jarvis  reported  you 
so,  the  other  day,  having  heard  from  you,  as  I  did 
not  deserve  to  do. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  121 

A  friend  of  ours,  the  Comtesse  du  Quaire,  an 
English  lady,  goes  to  Rome  this  week.  She  is  a 
friend  of  Mrs.  Sartoris  and  indeed  (I  should  say) 
of  almost  every  other  EngHsh  friend  you  have,  and 
a  very  clever  and  accomplished  person  besides.  She 
paints  well  and  has  been  studying  under  Mignaty 
this  winter;  I  am  sure  you  will  like  her  very  much; 
will  you  take  this  for  an  introduction  when  she  calls? 
And  will  you  further  procure  her  the  favour  of  an 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Gibson?  (to  whom  I  wish 
to  be  kindly  remembered,  myself).  And  finally, 
will  you  admire  her  splendid  development  when  she 
makes  her  entry, — which  I  do  not  expect  will  be  un- 
observed, her  proportions  being  Zenobian.  She  is 
coming  back,  I  believe,  and  will  tell  us  all  about 
you. 

Do  you  see  Miss  H?  Kindest  regards  to  her  if 
you  do.  And  Miss  d' Australia!  How  I  should  like 
to  know  what  she  is  about! 

Mrs.  Jameson  means  to  go  to  Naples  at  the  end 
of  the  week,  and  thence  to  Rome;  she  is  not  very 
well,  and  may  delay  starting,  as  she  has  done  already, 
should  the  weather  be  unfavorable;  she  chooses  the 
sea  route.  How  is  Page?  at  Rome?  Is  your  por- 
trait nearing  completion  by  a  touch  or  two? 

There  is  a  letter  for  you — the  grippe,  having 
evacuated  the  nobler  parts  of  the  body,  lingers,  I 
seem  to  see,  at  the  fingers'  ends;  don't  you  catch  it 
thence,  that's  all.  I  was  counting  on  my  wife's  mak- 
ing the  thing  worth  receiving  by  adding  a  word  or 
two,  but  she  has  been  writing  all  the  morning  and 
is  so  evidently  un-up  to  it,  that  I  won't  let  her  try. 
She  sends  you  her  dear  love. 

Yours  affectionately  ever, 

Robert  Browning. 


122  HARRIET  HOSMER 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 

^        ^,  Rome,  Mar.  4,  1858. 

I  am  biisj'^  now  upon  Zenobia,  of  a  size  with  which 
I  might  be  compared  as  a  mouse  to  a  camel.  My 
mass  of  clay  in  its  present  humanized  form  is  stun- 
ning. It  certainly  does  make  a  larger  piece  of  putty 
than  I  had  anticipated,  but  I  am  consoled  by,  and 
rejoice  in  the  fact,  that  it  will  be  more  grandiose 
when  finished.  To-morrow  I  mount  a  Zouave  cos- 
tume, not  intending  to  break  my  neck  upon  the  scaf- 
folding,   by   remaining   in   petticoats.  .  .  . 

Did  I  tell  you  that  one  day  a  ladj^  visited  my 
studio  in  company  with  another,  a  French  lady.  The 
stranger  was  charming  in  every  way,  I  was  delighted 
with  her  refinement  and  culture  and  in  short  fell  quite 
in  love  with  her.  At  the  close  of  the  visit,  I  accom- 
panied the  ladies  to  the  gate.  On  their  way  the 
stranger  stopped  to  admire  some  tulips  and  I  plucked 
several  and  gave  them  to  her.  She  received  them  very 
graciously  and  said,  "  When  you  come  to  Holland  I 
will  return  the  compliment."  Some  time  after,  I  was 
in  Holland  on  a  very  ceremonious  occasion,  and  found 
my  friend  to  be  the  late  Queen  of  Holland.  .  .  . 

Your  H. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

T^        itr     /-i  Rome,  Mar.  11,  1858. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

You  would  not  think  the  troubles  and  trials  of  this 

Mfe  weighed  very  heavily  upon  me  if  you  could  see 

my  case.     It  is   undoubtedly   a  hard   one,   as  far  as 

physique    is    concerned,    but    Lindley    Murray,    the 

sainted  grammarian,  might  call  it  a  mood  indicative 

of  the  best  possible  condition  of  the  mortal   frame. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  123 

I  think  my  journey  last  summer  did  me  a  "  power  " 
of  good,  drencliing  my  lungs  with  my  own  native 
atmosphere  and  purifying  my  stomachic  region  by 
a  full  meal  of  the  patriotic  brine.  Will  not  your 
gastric  battery  require  additional  electricity  about 
next  summer,  and  is  there  anything  so  effective  as  a 
transit  across  the  ocean? 

There  is  a  deal  of  illness  in  Rome,  especially  among 
old  people.  As  I  am  getting  to  be  of  that  category, 
I  might  have  been  in  fear  and  trembhng  myself,  ex- 
cept that  I  know  I  am  too  wicked  for  the  Lord  to 
want  me,  and  too  good  for  the  other  old  gentleman 
to  take  an  interest  in  me.  I  have  another  order  for 
Puck;  he  has  already  brought  me  his  weight  in  silver. 
I  enclose  a  photograph  of  my  Fountain,  which  I  sub- 
mit to  your  criticism.  The  history  of  it  is  Hylas  and 
the  water  nymphs,   and  if  the  story  is  not  fresh  in 

your  mind  the  classical  and  lassical  E will  ferret 

it  out  in  the  dictionary. 

I  have  just  had  a  letter  from  my  father,  in  which 
he  let  me  into  a  little  secret  about  a  monument.* 
You  never  forget  me,  I  see,  at  births,  marriages,  or 
deaths.  All  I  can  say  is  (I  won't  touch  upon  so 
delicate  a  subject  as  my  man'iage)  I  sha'n't  forget 
you  at  my  death. 

The  Duke  of  Hamilton  has  just  taken  a  Puck, 
and  I  am  making  another  for  the  Earl  of  Portarling- 
ton.  I  have  been  rapping  at  my  brains  for  the  last 
two  years  for  a  fitting  subject  as  a  pendant.  At  last 
1  have  got  it,  and  am  going  to  begin  it  immediately.! 
I  won't  tell  you  his  Christian  name,  but  will  send  you 
a  photograph  from  the  plaster.  At  the  same  time 
I  will  send  you  one  of  Zenobia,  with  which  I  am 
pleasing  myself.  It  has  just  passed  muster  with 
Mrs.  Jameson. 

As  for  my  monument  here   (the  Falconnet)   it  will 

•The  Benton  monument.  f  "  Will-o'-the-wisp." 


124.  HARRIET  HOSMER 

be  in  its  i^lace  in  October  next,  all  ready  for  you,  and 
how  I  shall  like  to  show  it  to  you! 

I  shall  stay  here  till  rather  late,  into  July,  and  then 
go  to  Siena  with  the  Storys,  getting  back  here  by 
the  first  of  October  punctually.  I  am  uncommonly 
well  now,  and  it  is  gloriously  quiet  time  for  work 
after  the  bustle  of  the  winter.  I  would  stay  all  sum- 
mer  if  I  dared.  Yours,  H. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  ^°^^'  ^""^  ^4,  1858. 

I  have  been  long  in  answering  a  letter  which 
should  have  been  responded  to  immediately.  I  sup- 
pose, such  is  the  contrariety  of  the  Hosmer  nature, 
that  the  more  imperious  the  duty,  the  greater  the  de- 
lay in  performing  it.  But  the  fact  is,  I  waited  to 
send  you  with  this  a  sketch  *  I  have  been  making. 
You  know  I  was  always  obstinate,  so  I  insist  upon 
the  group.  If  I  overrun  the  limits  a  trifle  it  is  my 
lookout.  I  am  determined  you  shall  have  something 
more  than  a  cut  and  dried  Hope  leaning  on  her 
Anchor,  or  Charity  with  her  Milk  Pail,  and  in  short 
nothing  will  do  but  to  let  me  have  my  own  way, 
and,  as  my  good  father  says,  "  so  live  the  longer." 
In  regard  to  the  material,  there  is  a  certain  kind  of 
marble,  much  stronger  than  statuary  marble,  which 
is  capable  of  resisting  all  the  influences  of  a  St. 
Louis  climate,  and  is  far  more  beautiful  than  bronze, 
which  at  best  is  but  a  cold  and  harsh  material.  The 
color  of  this  is  gray  but  very  delicate  and  much  to  be 
preferred,  in  point  of  effect,  to  the  Carrara,  which 
is  too  glaringly  white  for  out-of-doors,  and  I  will 
guarantee  that  this  will  last,  unless  swallowed  up  by 
an  earthquake,  or  destroyed  in  another  revolutionary 
war,  till  the  crack  of  doom,  which  is  as  long  as   I 

*  Of  a  family  monument  for  Mr.  Crow. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  125 

suppose  we  shall  last  ourselves.  So  that  is  all  settled 
and  I  will  guarantee  that  you  shall  be  satisfied,  or 
else  I  will  agree  to  remove  the  whole  thing,  and 
place  it  over  my  own  remains,  having  previously  com- 
mitted suicide.  ...  V  TT 

At  this  time  came  a  tribute  to  the  artist  from  her 
old  professor,  Dr.  McDowell,  which  amused  her. 
He  writes  to  a  St.  Louis  editor: 

My  dear  Sir:  ^^^  ^°u'^'  ^"8"^*'  ^^^^- 

I  observed  in  your  paper  a  notice  of  Miss  Hosmer, 
and  associated  with  her  triumph  as  an  artist  my  own 
humble  name;  and  it  has  made  me  feel  intensely 

To  Harriet  Hosmer,  I  am  indebted  for  a  reputa- 
tion. Well,  she  is  grateful  to  me  for  kindness,  and 
gratitude  to  me  is  more  than  gold.  St.  Louis  should 
be  proud  that  she  received  the  rudimental  steps  of 
her  education  in  art  among  us. 

The  triumph  of  the  talented  and  gifted  Powers 
made  me  feel  proud  of  my  country.  The  death  of 
Clevenger  made  me  feel  that  the  chisel  had  fallen  most 
untimely  from  a  hand  that  would  have  shed  lustre 
on  his  country,  and  I  mourned  over  my  pupil.  But 
the  pride  I  feel  in  the  triumph  of  Miss  Hosmer  is 
as  much  as  I  could  endure  ^vithout  being  haughty! 

To  see  a  man  mount  step  by  step  through  difficul- 
ties, and  at  last  stand  on  the  first  round  of  fame's 
proud  ladder,  commands  admiration.  But  to  see  a 
woman  dare  to  scale  the  mountain  height  of  fame, 
when  she  has  the  heroic  courage  to  plant  her  ladder 
on  a  precipice  and  lean  it  on  a  storm  cloud,  and 
dare  the  lightning's  angry  passion  of  jealousy,  makes 
the  generous  bosom  heave  with  love  for  the  sex  and 
glory  that  we  were  born  of  woman. 

Alexander   Von   Humboldt   said   he  thought,   after 


126  HARRIET  HOSMER 

travelling  over  the  whole  world,  that  the  sublimest 
sight  he  ever  beheld  was  Cotopaxi  in  full  blast.  To 
my  imagination  the  sublimer  spectacle  is  to  see  a 
timid  woman  rise  amid  the  sea  of  angry  billows  of 
humanity,  and  lift  her  proud  head  above  the  waves, 
and  know  that  unscathed  she  has  breasted  the  storm. 
May  the  snowy  peak  of  the  mount  of  Miss  Hos- 
mer's  glory  ever  stand  as  a  beacon  to  woman's  daring. 
Her  heart  was  as  pure  as  the  untrodden  mountain 
snowflake,  and  her  footsteps  were  as  firm  as  its 
eternal   foundation. 

I  am,  respectfully  yours, 

J.  N.  McDowell. 

MRS.  L.  M.  CHILD  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Wayland,  Aug.  21,  1858. 
Dear  Harriet: 

I  was  delighted  to  receive  your  little  love-note, 
which  exhilarated  my  old  heart,  as  wine  does  the 
nerves,  but  unlike  wine,  it  left  no  headache  or  de- 
pression. I  have  waited  to  have  something  entertain- 
ing to  write  you,  but  nothing  entertaining  happens 
in  the  vicinity  of  my  lonely  little  den,  so  I  write 
without  having  anything  to  say,  except  that  I  love 
you  truly,  take  the  liveliest  interest  in  your  success, 
and  have  you  very  often  and  very  affectionately  in 
my  thoughts.  That  little  flying  visit  you  made  me 
was  delightful !  You  "  stood  beside  me  like  my 
youth."  .  .  . 

Mrs.  S.  was  here  and  gave  me  an  animated  account 
of  her  European  reminiscences  and  of  you.  How  I 
do  wish  I  could  have  one  day's  stroll  with  you  in 
the  enchanted  atmosphere  of  Rome!  I  was  building 
such  a  castle  in  the  air  when  you  were  here,  but  the 
prismatic  tints  have  all  faded  away  from  the  aerial 
palace,   and  left  only   a  pile  of  clouds.     The   friend 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  127 

who  invited  me  to  go  to  Italy  had  his  affairs  thrown 
into  temporary  confusion  by  the  late  financial  crisis, 
and  though  the  house  was  wealthy  enough  to  avoid 
failure,  it  became  necessary  for  the  partners  to  give 
up  travelling  on  the  Continent  at  present.  Mean- 
while I  am  growing  old  fast,  and  I  cannot  get  at 
you  and  Rome,  to  rejuvenate  me. 

Did  you  read  Victor  Hugo's  "Notre  Dame?" 
There  is  a  beautiful  young  gips}^  named  Esmeralda, 
who  dances  in  the  sunshine  with  her  pretty  white 
goat,  while  the  bells  of  her  tambourine,  which  she 
shakes  above  her  head,  make  flitting  ripples  of  light 
upon  her  forehead.  It  would  make  an  exceedingly 
graceful  statue;  the  flexible,  swaying  form  of  the 
young  girl  in  picturesque  gipsy  garments,  her  nimble 
little  feet  moving  in  echoes  to  her  music,  while  the 
white  goat  watches  her  expressive  face  and  moves  at 
her  bidding. 

How  comes  on  the  stately  Zenobia?  I  have  often 
recalled  the  pencil-sketch  of  that  head-dress  which 
Miss  Ticknor  showed  to  you,  and  though  it  was  very 
graceful  and  unique,  I  doubt  whether  it  would  be  in 
keeping  with  the  majestic  beauty  of  the  glorious 
Queen  of  Palmyra.  Perhaps,  however,  the  Virgin 
Mary  which  you  discovered,  in  regal  garments  of  the 
Oriental  mode,  will  furnish  head-dress  and  all.  .  .  . 

Would  you  object  to  my  writing  an  account  of 
the  vision  you  once  told  me  of,  some  time  when  I  am 
writing  on  the  subject  of  Spiritualism?  I  may  wish 
to  allude  to  it,  by  way  of  illustration,  but  would  not 
do  so  without  your  sanction.  We  are  all  so  interested 
about  that  other  life,  that  it  seems  as  if  so  remarkable 
a  story,  with  a  "  local  habitation  and  a  name,"  ought 
to  have  an  authentic  record.  .  .  .  God  bless  you  al- 
ways. Your  truly  affectionate  friend, 

L.  M.  Child. 


128  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Later,  upon  being  questioned  about  her  psychical 
experiences,  Miss  Hosmer  related  the  following  in- 
cidents, to  the  first  of  which  Mrs.  Child  alluded  in 
the  previous  letter: 

"  When  I  was  living  in  Rome  I  had  for  several 
years  a  maid  named  Rosa,  to  whom  I  became  much 
attached.  She  was  faithful  and  competent,  and  I 
was  greatly  distressed  when  she  became  ill  with  con- 
sumption and  had  to  leave  me.  I  used  to  call  fre- 
quently to  see  her  when  I  took  my  customary  exercise 
on  horseback,  and  on  one  occasion  she  expressed  a 
desire  for  a  certain  kind  of  wine.  I  told  her  I  would 
bring  it  to  her  the  next  morning.  This  was  toward 
evening,  and  she  appeared  no  worse  than  for  some 
days;  indeed,  I  thought  her  much  brighter,  and  left 
her  with  the  expectation  of  calling  to  see  her  many 
times.  During  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  I  was  busy 
in  my  studio,  and  do  not  remember  that  Rosa  was  in 
my  thoughts  after  I  parted  from  her.  I  retired  to 
bed  in  good  health  and  in  a  quiet  frame  of  mind.  I 
always  sleep  with  my  doors  locked,  and  in  my  bed- 
room in  Rome  there  were  two  doors;  the  key  to  one 
my  maid  kept,  and  the  other  was  turned  on  the  inside. 
A  tall  screen  stood  around  my  bed.  I  awoke  early 
the  morning  after  my  visit  to  Rosa  and  heard  the 
clock  in  the  library  next,  distinctly  strike  five,  and 
just  then  I  was  conscious  of  some  presence  in  the 
room,  back  of  the  screen.  I  asked  if  any  one  was 
there,  when  Rosa  appeared  in  front  of  the  screen 
and  said,  '^Adesso  sono  contento,  adesso  sono  felice ' 
(Now  I  am  content,  now  I  am  happy).  For  the  mo- 
ment it  did  not  seem  strange,  I  felt  as  though  every- 
thing was  as  it  had  been.  She  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  coming  into  my  room  early  in  the  morning.  In  a 
flash  she  was  gone.    I  sprang  out  of  bed.    There  was 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  129 

no  Rosa  there.  I  moved  the  curtain,  thinking  that 
she  might  have  playfully  hidden  behind  its  folds.  The 
same  feeling  induced  me  to  look  into  the  closet.  The 
sight  of  her  had  come  so  suddenly,  that  in  the  first 
moment  of  surprise  and  bewilderment  I  did  not  re- 
flect that  the  door  was  locked.  When  I  became  con- 
vinced that  there  was  no  one  in  the  room  but  myself, 
I  recollected  that  fact,  and  then  I  thought  I  must 
have  seen  a  vision. 

At  breakfast  I  mentioned  the  apparition  to  my 
French  landlady,  and  she  ridiculed  the  idea  as  being 
anything  more  than  the  fantasy  of  an  excited  brain. 
To  me  it  was  a  distinct  fact,  and  is  to  this  day  a  dis- 
tinct vision.  Instead  of  going  to  see  Rosa  after 
breakfast,  I  sent  to  enquire,  for  I  felt  a  strong  pre- 
monition that  she  was  dead.  The  messenger  returned 
saying  Rosa  had  died  at  five  o'clock.  When  I  told 
Mr.  Gladstone  of  this  experience  he  was  interested 
until  I  ciime  to  the  apparition  talking.  He  said  he 
firmly  believed  in  a  magnetic  current,  action  of  one 
mind  upon  another,  or  whatever  you  choose  to  call 
it,  but  could  not  believe  ghosts  had  yet  the  power  of 
speech.  However,  to  me  this  occurrence  is  as  much 
of  a  reality  as  any  experience  of  my  life. 

Then,  too,  I  have  had  many  strange  flashes  of  inner 
vision  in  seeing  articles  that  were  lost.  I  have  never 
been  able  to  produce  them  by  reasoning  or  strong 
desire.  They  have  come  literally  in  a  flash.  I  had 
three  such  visions  during  different  visits  to  Lady  A., 
once  at  her  coimtry  seat  in  Scotland  and  the  others  at 
her  London  house.  Lady  A.  wears  a  curious  gold 
ring  designed  by  her  husband.  When  taken  from 
the  finger  it  can  be  straightened  into  a  key.  All  of 
her  valuables,  from  jewel  cases,  to  her  writing  room, 
where  many  important  papers  are  kept,  are  fitted 
with  locks  for  this  key.  She  has  one  duplicate  of 
this,    made    of    steel,    that    she    sometimes    left    with 


130  HARRIET  HOSMER 

her  daughter  or  me,  when  going  away.  One  morn- 
ing she  came  into  my  room  much  distressed,  say- 
ing she  could  not  find  her  ring  key,  and  asked  me 
to  come  into  her  room  and  help  in  the  search  that  was 
being  made  for  it  by  the  housekeeper  and  assistants. 
She  was  positive  she  had  put  the  ring  in  a  cabinet  by 
the  side  of  her  bed  upon  retiring  the  night  before. 
When  I  went  into  the  room  I  saw  the  ring  key,  in  my 
mind's  eye,  plainly  on  the  table  in  her  daughter's 
apartment.  I  told  her  it  was  needless  to  search  further 
there,  that  she  had  left  it  in  her  daughter's  room. 
Lady  A.  protested  that  she  was  certain  she  had  taken 
it  off  after  retiring.  But  the  ring  was  found  just 
where  I  saw  it. 

On  another  occasion  Lady  A.  could  not  find  a 
despatch  box  containing  valuable  papers.  She  en- 
listed my  services  in  hunting  for  it  in  her  writing  room. 
She  described  the  box.  She  had  scarcely  finished  the 
description  when  a  vision  of  it  flashed  across  my  brain. 
I  said,  '  It  is  useless  to  search  here,  the  box  is  at 
Drummond's  bank,  in  one  of  your  large  boxes.'  Lady 
A.  said  her  secretary  had  made  a  careful  inspection 
of  every  box  at  the  bank,  and  it  was  not  there.  I 
saw  that  box  distinctly,  and  I  went  to  the  bank. 
When  I  reached  there  the  Messrs.  Drummond  seemed 
to  think  it  was  quite  unnecessary  to  go  through  the 
boxes  again.  I  asked  the  clerk  to  bring  out  his  ledger 
containing  the  list  of  boxes.  I  felt  that  I  could  locate 
the  right  one  without  examining  all.  When  I  ran 
my  hand  down  the  list  (there  were  seven)  it  stopped 
at  five.  Number  five  was  brought  from  the  vault 
into  the  private  room  of  the  bankers  and  there  opened 
in  the  presence  of  the  three  brothers.  The  box  proved 
to  have  women's  belongings  in  it,  rare  laces  chiefly. 
The  bankers  smiled  incredulously  and  said,  '  You 
are  not  likely  to  find  the  despatch  box  among  those 
things.'      All    the    while    I    saw    that    lacquered    box. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  131 

After  taking  out  all  the  carefully  packed  articles  I 
was  rewarded  by  finding  the  lost  box  at  the  very 
bottom.  *  Despatch  Box '  across  the  front  in  gilt 
letters.  I  said  to  Messrs.  Drummond,  '  I  will  not  take 
the  box  home,  my  friend  must  come  and  see  for  her- 
self that  my  vision  was  accurate.'  So  it  was  left  in 
the  private  room  of  the  bank  while  I  drove  home. 
When  I  told  Lady  A.  the  circumstance  she  turned 
pale  and  said  she  believed  I  was  a  witch,  as  the  serv- 
ants thought,  because  I  had  such  powers  of  finding 
lost  articles.    We  drove  back  and  got  the  treasure. 

How  and  why  these  visions  come,  is,  as  yet,  an 
unknown  science,  but  I  firmly  believe  it  will  be  made 
clear  some  time,  perhaps  at  no  distant  day." 

During  Mr.  Gibson's  annual  visit  to  England  these 
two  letters  came  to  his  pupil: 

At  Henry  Sandbach's^  Hafodunas,  N.  Wales, 

My  dear  little  Hosmer:  ^^^'   ^^»    ^^^^• 

After  I  left  you  we  arrived  in  London  on  the  10th 
July,  and  remained  there  till  the  12th  August,  then 
started  for  Wales,  where  W.  and  your  slave  have 
been  staying  with  Mr.  Sandbach,  for  whom  I  made 
the  Hunter  and  the  Aurora  in  marble.  He  has 
built  here  a  beautiful  round  place  with  a  top  light, 
and  the  statues  have  a  fine  effect.  There  is  also  a 
beautiful  .lymph  by  Wyatt,  and  he  has  given  Spence 
an  order  to  make  him  a  female  figure  for  this  place. 
He  has  also  given  W.*  an  order  to  paint  him  a 
picture. 

To-morrow,  we  go  to  Mr.  Mainwaring  (the  name 
is  pronounced  Mannering).  He  used  to  talk  so 
much    of    you    when    at    Rome.      Then    I    visit    Mr. 

*  Penry  Williams. 


132  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Cheney;  it  was  to  his  mother  I  made  the  monument, 
The  Lady  and  the  Angel.  About  the  18th  inst.  I  go 
to  London  for  two  or  three  days.  There  the  cholera 
is  at  work.  Before  I  left  London  they  were  begin- 
ning to  die  about  JNIrs.  Huskisson's  house.  From 
London  I  shall  join  Mrs.  Huskisson  at  her  home  in 
the  country,  where  Williams  will  join  me,  and  there 
we  stay  till  the  end  of  the  month,  when  we  shall  be 
moving  towards  Rome,  but  we  must  hear  before  we 
go  there,  if  the  cholera  has  finished  working. 

During  my  stay  in  London  I  did  nothing  but  idle 
and  dine  out.  I  visited  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of 
Northumberland,  and  they  asked  kindly  about  you, 
and  so  did  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  I  read  your 
worthy  name  in  the  "  AthenEeum "  and  also  in  an- 
other paper.  You  must  have  paid  for  all  this!  Now 
they  cannot  say  that  I  pay,  for  they  run  me  down. 

Don't  you  long  to  be  at  the  studio,  listening  to  me 
when  I  talk  nonsense  to  you?  But  how  are  all  my 
ladies?  How  is  the  one  I  like  the  most?  Does  she 
look  as  young  and  as  pretty  as  ever?  And  how  is 
dear  little  Blagden?  I  hope  quite  recovered.  But 
tell  me  how  is  my  intended?  Now  you  can  answer 
me  all  these  little  questions,  for  I  shall  be  in  England, 
I  dare  say,  long  enough  to  have  a  letter  from  you. 
You  must  tell  me  all  about  your  own  little  self,  for 
I  am  anxious  to  know  all  your  proceedings  at  Flor- 
ence. Have  you  any  cholera  there?  Perhaps  we 
may  come  there  to  see  you,  and  to  bring  you  back  to 
Rome.     The  cholera  is  destroying  them  here. 

JNIr.  Williams  requested  me  to  i^resent  his  love  to 
you,  but  I  said  no,  that  is  too  familiar.  I  am  very 
tenacious.  How  is  Miss  A.  getting  on?  I  must  now 
close  my  long  letter  and  bid  you  good-by  and  God 

bless  you.  Affectionately  yours, 

Write  soon.  John  Gibson. 


V 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  133 

MR.  GIBSON  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

At   Mrs.    Huskisson's,    Eastham, 
NEAR  Chichester^  Sussex,  Sept.,  1858. 
My  dear  little  Hosmer: 

When  I  arrived  at  Mrs.  Huskisson's  here  in  the 
country,  a  beautiful  place!  I  found  your  letter. 
When  I  got  out  alone  into  the  grounds,  up  to  the 
Cedar  of  Lebanon,  sitting  under  its  wide  branches 
in  the  shade,  for  it  was  hot,  then  I  read  your  letter, 
which  brought  your  little  self  before  me.  My  mental 
sight  is  strong  and  I  can  see  the  absent  one;  I  saw 
you  sitting  by  my  side.  Dear  little  Hosmer,  said  I, 
and  j^ou  say  that  you  long  to  be  at  the  studio  again; 
so  do  I.  You  will  distinguish  yourself,  I  am  sure 
you  will.  Your  talent  is  evident,  you  have  great 
enthusiasm,  and  you  have  that  very  necessary  in- 
dustry and  also  that  great  advantage  of  a  Roman 
education  in  the  art. 

Is  not  ours  a  happy  existence,  our  lives  spent  in  the 
study  of  the  beautiful,  and  flying,  as  we  do,  upon  the 
wings  of  inspiration?  And  at  Rome  we  learn  to 
curb  our  flights  within  proper  bounds.  It  is  there, 
in  that  school,  that  we  learn  the  principles  of  pure 
taste.  Void  of  pure  taste,  the  works  of  genius  are 
not  of  great  value.  There  are  many  obstacles  in  the 
path  to  fame,  but  to  surmount  them,  to  produce  fine 
works,  we  must  have  tranquillity  of  mind.  Those 
who  are  envious  cannot  be  happy,  nor  can  the  vicious. 
We  must  have  internal  peace,  to  give  birth  to  beauti- 
ful ideas. 

I  am  glad  that  you  feel  impatient  to  begin  your 
statue;  that  impatience  is  love,  the  love  of  the  art. 
The  more  you  feel  it,  the  more  is  the  soul  inflamed 
with  ambition,  the  ambition  of  excellence.  INIay  j^ou 
reach  up  to  that  green  branch  which  the  divine  An- 


134.  HARRIET  HOSMER 

teros  holds  up  in  his  hands,  the  premium  of  Victory. 

I  am  glad  to  find  that  you  have  had  a  letter  from 

Miss  F ,  and  delighted  I  am  to  hear  that  she  will 

be  back  again.  You  are  wicked;  my  gladness  to  see 
her  will  be  equal  to  your  own.  When  I  think  of  our 
little  circle  of  ladies  at  Rome  I  am  proud  of  them; 
everj''  one  of  them  is  distinguished  more  or  less.  I 
have  been  reading  some  of  the  poetry  of  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing; she  has  certainly  obtained  the  green  branch,  her 
productions  will  be  always  admired.  I  have  only 
seen  the  second  volume,  but  I  will  purchase  hers  and 
his  too,  and  have  them  sent  to  Rome. 

And  is  our  bright  little  star  to  disappear,  she  that 
glittered  in  the  circle,  our  little  sprite,  the  profile, 
the  black  curls,  the  eyes,  the  poetic  glances,  the  tal- 
ent? Cast  her  arms,  pray  do,  and  then  the  little  feet, 
will  you? 

I  am  very  glad  that  you  give  such  a  good  account 

of  Miss  C and   all  her  fine  doings,   her  fine 

works.  Please  remember  me  most  kindly  to  her  and 
to  Mrs.  B and  to  her  sister. 

The  cholera  is  much  diminished  in  London;  from 
Wales  I  returned  there,  but  only  for  two  days.  The 
appearance  of  London  I  did  not  like,  very  empty  of 
people.  Thousands  had  gone  to  the  country,  thou- 
sands are  dead  of  the  cholera,  and  still  Death  is  at 
work  there.  I  was  glad  to  get  out  of  the  place,  but 
in  four  or  five  days  I  shall  have  to  return  again. 
About  the  15th  of  October  Williams  and  I  will  leave 
England  for  Rome.  If  you  have  no  cholera  I  may 
come  to  Florence. 

I  suppose  you  must  have  had  a  fight  with  my 
greatest  favorite,  for  you  never  once  mention  her  in 
your  letter.  Williams  sends  his  love  to  you,  and  he 
says  when  we  return  he  will  give  tea  to  all  of  you. 
So  will  I.  Spence  left  England  27  days  ago  for 
Leghorn.     He  went  through  all  the  cholera;  said  he 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  135 

would  write  me;  he  has  not  written.     Perhaps  he  is 
dead  somewhere  of  the  cholera. 
I  am,  my  dear  little  Hosmer, 

Affectionately  yours, 

John  Gibson. 

I  have  just  had  a  letter  from  Spence,  from  Leg- 
horn.    He  is  not  dead. 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 

Dear  C:  Rome,  Nov.  30,  1858. 

I  have  your  letter  written  from  Watertown  under 
the  paternal  roof  and  at  my  own  desk,  which  makes 
me  wish  to  he  there  too,  that  I  might  tell  you  how  I 
love  the  picture  (of  little  Hatty)  you  send  me.  It 
is  quite  beautiful,  and  so  like  my  little  girl  that  I 
can  almost  hear  her  call  me  "  Aunt  Hatty."  She  has 
grown  much  and  looks  more  heroic  and  determined 
than  ever,  embodying  in  her  sturdy  little  frame  all 
the  wilfulness  and  the  mischievousness  which  Mrs. 
Kemble  is  fond  of  imputing  to  American  children. 
My  advice  is,  that  you  let  her  grow  up  in  her  own 
way;  her  auntie  budded  and  blossomed  in  that  man- 
ner, and  the  consequence  is  what  you  perceive!  .  .  . 

Do  you  know,  I  have  had  to  throw  away  two 
pieces  of  marble  for  my  last  Puck.  Such  a  run  of  ill 
luck  never  happened  to  me  before.  I  had  a  piece 
which  I  thought  faultless,  but  when  I  came  to  finish- 
ing up  the  face  it  was  so  spotted  I  had  to  begin 
another.  Thus  you  see  that  marble,  like  woman,  is 
capricious ! 

You  ask  if  I  knew  Frederika  Bremer.  Yes,  one 
day  there  came  to  my  studio  a  lady  small  of  stature, 
plain  of  face,  but  so  agreeable  in  manner  and  con- 
versation that  form  and  feature  were  forgotten.  She 
was  accompanied  by  a  young  girl,  who,  as  I  after- 


136  HARRIET  HOSMER 

wards  learned,  was  regarded  as  a  great  musical  genius. 
The  lady  spoke  English,  but  with  the  deliberate  care 
peculiar  to  a  foreigner.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  re- 
mained impressed  with  her  taste  in  art,  but  she  was 
very  entertaining,  and  one  remark  is  worth  recording. 
"  Why  do  you  not  model  a  '  Topsy,'  *  and  cut  her 
out  of  black  marble?"     That  was  Miss  Bremer,  and 

some  years  afterwards  when  1  was  recognized 

as  a  Prima  Donna  Assoluta,  I  learned  that  the  great 
singer  was  no  other  than  the  little  girl  I  had  seen 
with  Miss  Bremer,  to  whom  her  musical  education 
was  mainly  due.  Your  H 

In  October  Miss  Hosmer's  monument  to  Made- 
moiselle Falconnet  was  placed  in  the  church  of  San 
Andrea  delle  Fratte,  and  Sir  Henry  Layard  wrote  to 
Madame  Falconnet  from  Constantinople  in  Decem- 
ber, 1858,  expressing  his  commendation  of  it. 

..."  When  in  Rome  I  did  not  fail  to  visit  the 
monument  to  your  lamented  daughter.  It  had  not 
been  placed,  when  I  arrived,  but  before  my  depar- 
ture I  had  an  opportunity  of  visiting  it,  with  Miss 
Hosmer,  and  returning  to  it  with  friends  upon  whose 
taste  and  judgment  I  have  great  reliance.  I  think 
you  may  rest  most  fully  satisfied  with  the  success  of 
Miss  H's  work.  It  has  exceeded  every  expectation 
I  had  formed  of  it.  The  unaffected  simplicity  and 
tender  feeling  displayed  in  the  treatment  are  all  that 
could  be  desired  for  such  a  subject,  and  cannot  fail 
to  touch  the  most  casual  observer.  I  scarcely  re- 
member to  have  ever  seen  a  monument  which  more 
completely  commended  itself  to  my  sympathy,  and 
more  deeply  interested  me,  and  I  really  know  of  none 
of  modern  days  which  I   should   sooner  have   placed 

*  A  little  negro  girl  immortalized  by  Mrs.  Stowe  in  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 
\  Illegible. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  137 

over  one  who  had  been  dear  to  me.  Do  not  believe 
that  I  mean  this  as  exaggerated  praise,  I  faithfully 
convey  to  you  the  impression  which  the  monument 
made  upon  me.  I  attribute  this  impression,  not  more 
to  the  artistic  merit  of  the  work,  than  to  the  com- 
plete absence  of  all  affectation,  to  the  simple  truth- 
fulness, and  to  the  genuine  feeling  of  the  monument 
itself.  Mr.  Gibson  accompanied  me  on  one  occasion, 
and  the  opinion  he  expressed  was  quite  in  accordance 
with  my  own,  and  he  is  not  a  man  to  give  praise 
where  it  is  not  deserved.  The  effect  of  the  light  is 
excellent;  in  this  respect  the  monument  could  not 
be  better  placed.  The  only  drawback,  and  this  is  not 
a  very  serious  one,  is  its  somewhat  cramped  position, 
an  altar  rather  preventing  a  good  view  of  the  whole 
figure.  But  I  understood  from  Miss  Hosmer  that  a 
part  of  this  altar  will  probably  be  removed,  and  ample 
space  will  then  be  afforded  to  judge  of  the  more  gen- 
eral effect.  JNIiss  Hosmer  will  undoubtedly  add  very 
greatly  to  her  reputation  by  this  successful  completion 
of  a  work  of  which  she  may  be  justly  proud.  I  feel 
sure  that  you  could  not  have  raised  a  monument  to 
your  lamented  daughter's  memory  in  any  way  more 
worthy  of  her." 

MRS.  KEMBLE  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

My  dearest  Hatty:  ^^me,  Dec,  1858. 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  charmed  I  was  with  my 
visit  to  your  studio  this  morning.  The  delight  your 
lovely  inventions  gave  me  was  very  great,  and  I  was 
deeply  affected  by  the  whole  aspect  of  your  career, 
as  it  presented  itself  to  my  memory  from  your  early 
girlhood  to  your  complete  development  as  a  true  and 
noble  artist,  an  honor  to  your  country  and  to  your 
sex.  I  rejoice  in  your  well-deserved  success,  and 
hope  with  all  my  heart  that  your  uncommon  gifts  may 


138  HARRIET  HOSMER 

be  preserved  to  you,  so  that  your  art  may  continue 
to  be  a  source  of  pure  delight  to  yourself  and  to 
others,  and  of  honor  to  Him  from  whom  cometh 
every  good  and  perfect  gift,  and  who  has  bestowed 
such  very  rare  powers  upon  you.  .  .  . 

Your  very  affectionate  old  friend, 

Fanny  Kemble. 

I  have  been  writing  a  long  account  of  you  and  your 
works  to  my  darling,*  and  I'll  tell  you  what  you 
shall  do  for  me,  Hatty,  when  she  comes;  you  shall 
make  me  a  bust  of  the  dear  face  and  fine  head  and 
that  will  be  an  infinite  delight  to  me. 

Again,  Mrs.  Kemble  to  Miss  Hosmer  after  a  con- 
versation upon  Schiller: 

Rome,  December,  1858. 
Let  us  divide  the  earth,  said  Zeus  one  day. 
Straight  seized  the  husbandman  the  golden  fields. 
In  the  dark  woods  the  hunter  sought  his  prey. 
And  to  the  merchant's  keel  the  smooth  wave  yields. 

Each  took  and  wrought  that  which  became  him  best; 
In  goodly  place  each  found  his  lines  to  fall; 
Labor  made  rich  the  day,  the  night  brought  rest, 
And  the  great  giver,  Zeus,  was  praised  by  all. 

Late,  with  slow,  wandering  feet  the  Poet  came, 
And  sadly  asked  for  his  inheritance. 
"Father,  have  I  alone,"  he  cried,  "no  claim.? 
Am  I,  thy  best  beloved,  cast  forth  to  chance.''  " 


(( 


Where  wert  thou,"  asked  the  god,  "  when  all  was  done?  " 
"  Beside  thy  feet,"  the  Poet  made  reply, 
"  Lost  in  the  glorious  splendor  of  thy  throne 
And  in  thy  voice's  awful  harmony." 

*  Her  sister,  Adelaide  Sartoris. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  139 

"  What  can  be  done  ?     The  world  away  is  given, 
Said  Zeus,  "  the  sea,  the  land  are  no  more  mine. 
Say,  wilt  thou  make  thy  home  with  me,  in  heaven? 
Whene'er  thou  thither  com'st,  it  shall  be  thine." 

Dearest  Hatty,  it  is  many  years  since  I  have  seen 
Schiller's  beautiful  ballad,  and  therefore,  strong  as 
was  the  impression  it  made  upon  me,  I  am  conscious 
that  even  in  point  of  fidelity,  this  is  a  most  defective 
translation  which  I  send  you.  The  beautiful  idea 
of  the  whole  is  all  I  have  been  able  to  retain,  and 
that  even  a  miserable  translation  cannot  utterly 
destroy.  If  I  can  procure  a  copy  of  Schiller's  ballad, 
I  will  make  you  a  literal  prose  translation  of  it,  a 
far  better  thing,  for  thought  belongs  to  no  language 
and  can  be  equally  rendered  in  all;  the  form  of  words 
peculiar  to  each  nation  has  beauties  which  may  be 
imitated,  but  never  reproduced  in  any  but  the  original 
tongue  to  which  they  belong. 

When  I  learned  German,  I  translated  each  of 
Schiller's  beautiful  poems  into  English  verse,  but 
was  so  dissatisfied  with  them  that  I  destroyed  them 
all.  I  have  since  seen  the  English  literary  world  accept 
with  commendation  versions  very  little,  if  at  all,  bet- 
ter than  mine,  but  as  an  artist  you  have  a  better 
right  than  I,  to  know  that  no  judgment  of  one's 
works  can  supersede  one's  own.  No  blame  can  deaden 
one's  own  approval,  no  praise  bribe  one's  own  con- 
demnation. The  conscience  of  an  artist  is  kindred  to 
the  moral  conscience  of  an  upright  man,  whose  ver- 
dicts are  God's  alone.  ...  I  hope  I  shall  see  you 
this  evening  at  my  sister's. 

Your  affectionate  old  friend, 

Fanny  Kemble. 


140  HARRIET  HOSMER 


TO  WAYIVIAN  CROW. 


Dear  Mr.  Crow:  Rome,  Dec.  1858. 

I  wish  you  could  raise  your  ej^es  from  this  paper 
and  see  what  at  this  particular  moment  of  writing 
I  can  see.  It  would  be  a  huge,  magnificent  room,  not 
in  ]Mr.  Gibson's  studio,  but  close  by,  with  a  monstrous 
lumi3  of  clay,  which  will  be,  as  Combe  would  have 
said,  "  when  her  system  is  sufficiently  consolidated," 
Zenobia.  The  resources  of  my  quondam  studio  being 
unequal  to  the  demands  made  upon  it  this  year,  I 
have  been  forced  to  seek  more  spacious  quarters,  and 
here  I  am  ready  to  receive  you  in  regal  style. 

So  the  Cenci  is  finally  at  rest.  I  hope  the  light  is 
good  and  that  her  critics  will  deal  leniently  with  her. 
As  mothers  say,  Beatrice  has  her  good  points  and  she 
has  her  faults.  Nobodj^  knows  it  better  than  the 
parent  who  brought  her  forth,  but  I  will  leave  it  to 
others,  to  find  out  what  they  are. 

I  wish  you  could  see  my  monument,  which  is  now 
placed  in  the  church.  Madame  Falconnet,  the  mother, 
seems  pleased  with  it,  and  as  for  Mr.  Gibson,  I  have 
never  heard  him  express  so  much  satisfaction  since  I 
have  been  in  Rome,  as  he  did  when  he  saw  it  com- 
pleted.    This  I  tell  you  between  ourselves. 

We  have  had  the  most  extraordinary  weather  for 
the  last  week.  The  Campagna  is  inundated,  and  the 
Ripetta,  (which  is  the  street  parallel  with  the  river), 
has  to  be  traversed  in  boats.  The  water  is  advancing 
up  the  cross  streets  to  the  Corso,  and  the  prospect  is 
fair  of  having  a  fish  race  this  year  at  Carnival,  in- 
stead of  the  horses.  All  this  is  very  uncomfortable  for 
riders,  but  still  more  so  for  the  shepherds,  who,  besides 
losing  their  flocks  and  herds,  are  making  tracks  as  of 
old  to  the  mountains  and  high  places,  but  with  their 
slip-and-go-easy    way    console    themselves    after    the 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  141 

manner  of  Noah's  friend,  that  it  is  "  only  a  shower." 
How  comes  on  the  Benton  monument?  If  by 
chance  I  should  get  it  to  do,  I  should  feel  very  grand. 
I  should  like  it  for  next  winter's  work,  and  should 
like  uncommonly  to  see  it  raised  in  St.  Louis,  where 
two  of  my  babies,  in  the  words  of  the  pious  psalmist, 
are  "  not  lost,  but  gone  before." 

This  is  sent  to  reach  you  at  Christmas  time,  and 
bears  to  you  all  the  merry  Christmases  and  Happy 
New  Years  that  God  can  shower  upon  His  children. 
May  He  keep  you  all  in  the  sunniest  spot  of  the 
earth,  and  may  He  preserve  us  all  until  we  meet 
again.  This  wish  and  prayer,  with  the  most  loving 
love  to  all,  is  out  of  the  warmest  corner  of  my  heart. 

Yours,  H. 

n         i\r     r^     u  RoME^  Jan.   14,   1859. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  ' 

Nothing  has  surprised  me  so  much  for  a  long  time 
as  the  date  of  my  dear  father's  letter.  If  he  had 
walked  unannounced  into  my  studio  here  I  scarcely 
should  have  opened  my  eyes  wider  than  when  he  ad- 
dressed me  from  under  your  hospitable  roof.  He 
seems  to  have  enjoyed  his  visit  in  St.  Louis  thor- 
oughly, and  I  see  he  will  go  home  with  a  due  appre- 
ciation of  the  beauties  and  the  merits  of  the 
West.  .  .  . 

Now  apropos  of  the  subject  you  broached,  about 
the  monument.  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  it  is  time 
our  Christian  cemeteries  were  decked  with  Christian 
ornaments.  I  admit  I  am  Pagan  enough  to  admire 
Pagan  subjects,  but  still  it  strikes  me  that  something 
as  poetical  and  beautiful  as  classic  subjects  might 
suggest,  is  to  be  found  in  more  modern  and  more 
truly  religious  ones.  This  is  not  the  result  of  re- 
flections I  have  made  since  the  receipt  of  your  letter 
only,  but  of  what  has  been  floating  about  in  the  cor- 


142  HARRIET  HOSMER 

ners  of  my  brain  for  a  long  time,  and  I  already  had 
nearly  worked  out  "  in  my  mind's  eye,"  a  design  of 
which  I  dare  say  you  might  approve, — if  you  do  not 
think  it  would  be  too  extensive  and  expensive,  as  it 
would  involve  the  necessity  of  three  figures.  You 
know  enough  of  art,  to  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  ex- 
press an  abstract  idea  very  clearly  or  fully,  unless 
j^ou  can  have  the  scope  in  a  group.  All  that  my  head 
or  hand  can  do  is  yours  to  command,  as  I  consider 
you  pretty  well  own  me.  Now,  dear  Mr.  Crow,  I 
shall  be  working  out  more  fully  the  idea  which  I  will 
afterwards  submit  to  you,  for  if  the  dimensions  I 
have  proposed  do  not  frighten  you,  I  will  make  a 
careful  study  in  clay  and  send  you  a  photograph.  I 
want  to  do  something  of  which  you  wouldn't  be 
ashamed,  nor  I  either.  .  .  , 

Yours,  H. 

After  working  till  the  last  of  July,  Miss  Hosmer 
went  with  friends  for  a  trip  through  Switzerland  and 
writes : 

Milan,  Sep.  14,  1859. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

Ever  since  I  left  Rome,  which  is  now  six  weeks 
ago  precisely,  I  have  been  thinking  of  you  with  in- 
tent to  write,  and  find  to  my  horror  that  I  have  run 
through  Switzerland,  had  my  holiday,  and  am  now 
as  far  towards  Rome  as  Milan,  without  ever  having 
done  the  decent.  I  have  been  lazy  to  that  degree  that 
I  am  ashamed  to  tell  you  of  it.  But  the  fact  is,  that 
when  I  left  Rome  I  felt  I  never  should  take  up  any- 
thing heavier  than  a  nail  belonging  to  the  north  side 
of  a  coffin  again.  As  Miss  Cushman  says,  "  Death 
was  no  temptation."  I  looked  like  an  antique  of  a 
thousand,  I  ought  to  say,  like  a  mummy  of  four 
thousand  years  old.     In  plain  English,  "  done  up." 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  143 

Well,  my  beloved  friend  and  preserver,  if  j''ou  could 
see  me  now,  the  bulk  of  the  Great  Eastern  is  nothing 
to  mine,  you  would  say.  I  live  and  move  and  have 
my  being  on  the  principle  of  the  Dome  of  San  Marco, 
which  is  famed  for  its  breadth  and  not  its  height. 
My  buttons  disappear  like  the  Redmen  before  civi- 
lization. I  might  be  classed  among  the  monsters  of 
the  great  deep,  if  I  were  only  under  water,  and  I 
am  sure  all  those  who  advocate  ideal  in  man  would 
think  the  sooner  I  got  there  the  better  for  their 
disciples.  And  this  is  the  result  of  a  little  good  air, 
in  contra-distinction  to  the  delicious  malaria  of  the 
Campagna.  The  sage  conclusion  I  have  arrived  at 
is,  that  delightful  and  healthful  as  a  Roman  winter 
is,  a  summer  is  enough  to  break  down  the  strongest 
constitution. 

Well,  here  we  are  in  Milan,  to-morrow  we  leave 
here  for  Bologna,  then  for  Florence,  and  then  for 
Rome,  where  we  shall  arrive,  I  hope,  on  the  first  day 
of  October,  making  just  two  months  and  two  days 
that  we  have  been  shaking  our  feet.  Shaking  one's 
feet  is  all  very  well  for  a  time,  too,  but  one  likes  to 
be  getting  on,  and  that  isn't  the  mode  of  progression 
we  read  of.  I  am  all  ready  for  work  again,  and  am 
going  back  to  begin  that  monument,*  which  is  to 
immortalize  us  both!  I  have  been  studying  it  out  this 
summer,  in  spite  of  my  laziness,  and  rather  think,  if 
my  modesty  were  not  in  the  way  of  my  expressing 
myself  strongly,  that  it  will  do.  By  the  time  you 
read  this,  if  you  can  look  around  the  various  corners 
that  intervene  between  your  eyes  and  my  studio,  you 
will  see  something.  .  .  . 

Milan  is  filled  with  French  soldiers,  but  everything 
is  as  quiet  as  possible;  it  remains  yet  to  be  seen  how 
much  good  resulted  from  those  awful  battles.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

*  For  Mr.  Crow. 


U4i  HARRIET  HOSMER 

After  the  weeks  spent  in  Switzerland  Miss  Hosmer 
retiu'ned  to  Rome  and  to  her  home  with  JNIiss  Cush- 
man.  The  latter  had  taken  a  large  apartment  at  38 
Via  Gregoriana,  with  her  friend  Miss  Stebbins,  and 
Miss  Hosmer  also  occupied  a  small  apartment  in  the 
same  house,  where  they  formed  one  family,  as  it  were: 
a  pleasant  arrangement  which  continued  for  five 
years,  till  JNIiss  Hosmer  felt  that  her  increasing  work 
and  income  warranted  her  having  a  home  of  her  own. 

TO  MISS  E.  C.  CROW. 

T%p  J,  ^.  RoME^  October,  1859. 

...  I  suppose  you  are  all  sea-monsters  by  this 
time,  after  your  summer  at  Newport,  while  I  am  a 
monster  to  see,  after  mine  in  Lucerne.  .  .  . 

I  don't  think  we  have  stopped  at  a  single  place 
since  we  left  Rome,  without  finding  somebody  we 
knew,  and  in  a  little  out-of-the-way  town,  in  crossing 
the  Simplon,  a  ge^idarme  came  up  to  me  and  said, 
"  Signorina,  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
in  Rome."  In  that  case  the  meeting  was  a  lucky  one, 
because  he  recommended  us  to  a  vetturino.  .  .  . 

Miss  Cushman  is  going  over  the  ocean  next  sum- 
mer. It  is  an  awful  temptation  to  join  her,  but  we'll 
see,  col  tempo  tutto.  At  present  my  head  is  in  the 
clay  pit,  where  my  fingers  soon  must  be,  or  I  shall 
be  ruined.  I  tell  Miss  Cushman  that  if  I  could  play 
Lady  Macbeth  I  would  set  up  a  carriage,  but  as  I 
can't,  I  must  be  content  with  a  wheelbarrow.  We 
have  all  decided,  that  is,  "  the  three  old  maids  "  of  the 
Gregoriana,  that  when  everything  else  fails,  we'll  go 
in  for  lecturing.  Miss  Cushman  will  hold  forth  upon 
Dramatic  Art,  Miss  Stebbins  upon  Pictorial  Art  and 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  145 

I  upon  the  Art  of  Sculpture.  Then  the  division  of 
the  proceeds  is  to  be,  that  each  shall  take  all,  and 
the  others  have  what  is  left.  .  .  . 

Now  my  rattle  must  cease.  ^  tt 

Mrs.  L.  M.  Child  writes  to  Miss  Hosmer  of  the 
Zenobia,  now  nearing  completion: 

x^         xr      •  ^  Wayland,  Oct.,  1859. 

Dear  Harriet: 

I  was  overjoyed  to  receive  your  letter  and  the 
photographs!  Bless  your  great  soul!  They  set  my 
spirits  up  on  sunny  heights  for  three  days,  and  that 
is  a  good  deal  to  accomplish,  for  one  of  my  age. 
Your  father  had  such  a  longing  for  one  of  them,  that 
I  sent  him  the  front  view.  I  couldn't  muster  sufficient 
generosity  to  give  him  the  other,  for  it  forms  one  of 
the  greatest  ornaments  of  my  little  parlor.  The 
statue  far  surpasses  my  expectations,  yet  I  expected 
a  good  deal.  It  is  the  skilful  embodiment  of  a  truly 
regal  ideal;  a  strikingly  just  conception  of  the  brave 
and  proud  Zenobia,  and  most  admirably  expressed. 
I  think  you  have  been  singularly  successful  in  the 
obviously  difficult  task  of  expressing  the  right  degree 
of  motion.  The  position  of  the  limbs  seems  to  me  to 
indicate  exactly  the  slow  and  measured  tread  natural 
to  one  walking  in  procession.  Doesn't  Mr.  Gibson 
think  so?  The  drapery  is  a  charming  combination  of 
Grecian  gracefulness  with  Oriental  magnificence,  and 
it  is  admirably  managed.  I  admire  the  helmet-crown, 
so  well  suited  to  that  "  Warrior  Queen."  The  addi- 
tion of  the  fillet  was  a  felicitous  idea.  It  makes  an 
extremely  pleasing  line  with  the  hands  where  it  is 
crossed  on  the  breast. 

I  wish  you  joy,  my  young  friend;  you  have  fairly 
won  your  spurs  in  the  field  of  art.  "  Arise,  Sir 
Harriet  Hosmer!"    The  best  of  it  is,  you  will  not  be 


146  HARRIET  HOSMER 

satisfied  with  what  you  have  done,  your  motto  will 
always  be,  "  Onward  and  Upward."  But  if  you  take 
such  a  long  stride  with  every  new  effort,  I  think  by 
the  time  you  are  fifty  years  old,  you  will  have  to 
weep  for  more  worlds  to  conquer. 

You  are  very  often  in  my  thoughts,  dear  Harriet, 
and  as  my  imagination  almost  sees  visions,  groups  of 
statuary  begin  to  range  themselves  round  my  inner 
gallery  as  soon  as  you  come  into  my  mind.  One  day 
I  saw  that  Mother  of  the  Gracchi  who  has  been  quoted 
to  us  women,  even  to  tediousness.  She  was  a  noble- 
looking  matron,  her  youngest  son  was  cuddled  close 
among  the  folds  of  her  drapery,  as  if  shy  of  the 
strangers  to  whom  she  was  exhibiting  him.  Her  hand 
rested  fondly  and  protectingly  upon  the  little  curly 
head.  The  older  boy  looked  up  with  a  frank,  manly 
smile  into  the  maternal  face  that  was  looking  down 
upon  him  with  loving  pride. 

Another  time,  I  saw  the  grave,  enterprising  Cap- 
tain Smith,  in  the  picturesque  dress  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan age,  the  clasped  mantle  and  the  hat  with 
drooping  plume.  He  sat  on  a  rock  in  Virginian 
fields,  and  the  young  Pocahontas,  vigorous  and  supple, 
with  her  twelve  years  of  free,  forest  life,  reclined  on  the 
ground  beside  him,  with  the  careless  grace  of  a  faun. 
Her  dress  was  a  short  deer-skin  skirt,  scarcely  reach- 
ing the  knee,  and  fastened  below  the  waist  by  a  girdle 
of  elaborately  embroidered  wampum,  with  tasselled 
ends.  Her  long  hair  was  held  by  a  wampum  band, 
in  which  was  inserted  a  semi-circle  of  feathers,  giving 
it  the  look  of  a  coronet.  She  was  wearing  a  garland 
of  woodland  flowers  and  held  up  one  to  her  European 
hero,  as  if  asking  him  to  admire  it.  But  why  do  I 
prattle  to  you  of  my  vision  gallery,  when  your  own 
is  swarming  with  forms  of  beauty? 

Three  weeks  ago  we  spent  a  night  at  your  father's. 
You  know  he  and  my  husband  were  comrades  in  their 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  147 

bachelor  days,  and  the  meeting  made  them  both  young 
again.  Such  peals  of  laughter  I  have  not  heard  for 
many  a  day.  All  the  inanimate  fixtures  in  your 
studio  remain  as  when  you  left  them.  Your  father 
takes  an  affectionate  pride  in  leaving  them  undis- 
turbed. 

Mrs.  S.  in  a  letter  last  week,  in  speaking  of  you, 
says,  "  I  love  that  child."  I  don't  know  whether 
you  like  to  have  friends  call  you  a  child,  I  do. 

I  am  very  sorry  to  see  by  the  papers  that  Mrs. 
Browning  is  ill.  I  hope  her  imprisoned  soul  will 
not  quit  the  body  for  a  long  time  to  come,  for  if  she 
is  like  the  average  of  spirits,  the  poetry  she  will  tip 
through  tables  won't  be  a  tenth  part  so  elegant  as 
that  she  writes  on  earth! 

Good  angels  keep  you,  dear. 

Your  affectionate  old  friend, 

L.  M.  Child. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Rome,  Oct.  1859. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

The  last  time  I  sanctified  ink  was  by  writing  to 
you  from  Milan,  in  the  character  of  Signora,  which 
among  Italians  means  a  fat  woman  who  has  nothing 
to  do;  now,  however,  the  scene  changes,  and  I  present 
myself  in  the  form  of  artist,  which  in  this  vernacular 
signifies  an  individual  who  is  generally  in  a  fix,  and 
this  for  the  want  of  something  to  do.  Well,  at  this 
present  moment,  being,  as  I  say,  the  size  of  Daniel 
Lambert,  I  am  not  thin,  nor,  as  I  am  "  blest  with  the 
opportunity  of  toil,"  have  I  nothing  to  do,  and  yet, 
true  to  the  first  characteristic  of  my  species,  I  am  in 
a  fix.  Being  then  in  the  category  of  planets  (not  so 
much  because  I  am  a  heavenly,  as  a  fixed  body), 
it  seems  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  to  make 


148  HARRIET  HOSMER 

you  the  recipient  of  my  woes.  Whether  it  is  on  the 
ground  of  paternity,  or  whether  it  is  because  that 
beneficent  ear  of  yours  has  ever  Hstened  to  my 
groans,  or  whether  it  is  that  I  have  been  inspired  by 
what  you  term  "  the  talking  business  "  of  your  last 
letter,  I  am  sure  I  can't  say,  but  I  fancy  it  is  a  union 
of  the  whole  three  things,  and  this  is  the  result  of  it. 
Well,  I  came  from  the  mountains  of  Switzerland 
redolent  of  fat,  rolling  in  pounds,  so  far  so  good, 
but  unluckily  they  are  not  pounds  sterling;  but  that 
doesn't  distress  me,  because  I  have  a  sufficiently  fat 
little  sum  waiting  for  me  in  Rome,  as  I  fondly  think, 
for  the  reason  that  I  have  a  right  to  think  it.  It  is 
owing  to  me.  It  is  mine  (that  is,  when  I  get  it!)  I 
arrive  at  headquarters  and  a  letter  is  waiting  for  me, 
of  course  there  is  as  good  as  gold  inside  it.  Not  a 
bit  of  it,  with  many  excuses  I  am  prayed  to  wait 
six  months!  tearing  of  hair  and  stern  banker.  Shall 
I  throw  myself  into  the  Tiber?  No,  because  pros- 
pects are,  on  the  whole,  too  bright  around  me.  Shall 
I  take  prussic  acid?  No,  because  there  would  be 
great  difficulty  in  the  way  of  making  statues  after- 
wards. Also,  I  relinquish  as  ignoble  the  idea  of  the 
fatal  puddle,  and  take,  not  a  bottle  of  poison,  but  of 
ink,  a  quill,  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  your  beneficent  ear, 
and  that's  my  fix.  Oh,  for  the  time  of  the  gods  when 
one  lived  on  their  nectar  and  yet  got  fat!  Is  it  that 
there  is  no  more  genuine  nectar  to  be  found,  or  have 
our  constitutions  changed,  and  do  they  require  much 
bread  and  butter  to  keep  them  in  order?  Don't  they, 
though!  And  no  friendly  god  (but  yourself)  to  fur- 
nish it.  However,  twirling  the  fingers  and  sighing 
for  Olympus  won't  help  the  matter  one-half  so  much 
as  the  God  saving  clause  in  your  kind  letter,  that 
you  would  always  "  pay  something  to  keep  me  em- 
ployed." I  didn't  think  at  the  time  I  read  it,  that 
I   should  so   soon  have  occasion  to   quote  it  in   the 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  149 

present  sense,  because  my  day  looked  clear  enough, 
but  you,  dear  Pater  who  have  so  much  knowledge  of 
mundane  affairs,  know  how  easy  it  sometimes  is  to 
be  thrown  off  the  track,  even  when  one  has  several 
strings  to  one's  bow,  and  then  how  still  more  so  it  is 
when  a  "  feller  "  has  just  enough  to  screw  on  with, 
and  the  only  string  snaps! 

You  have  heard  tell  of  such  a  thing,  and  I  have 
experienced  it,  (instead  of  religion).  But  to  go  back, 
you  may  smile  at  the  alertness  with  which  I  have 
taken  up  the  proposition  of  your  monument,*  but  the 
fact  is,  that  beginning  it  now,  four  years  would 
scarcely  see  it  finished,  and  God  only  knows  where  we 
may  be  at  the  end  of  the  fifth.  And  I  think  I  should 
lie  straighter  in  my  grave,  if  I  knew  that  that  work, 
in  which  I  shall  take  the  most  sincere  interest,  were 
accomplished.  However  that  may  be,  whether  I  have 
the  satisfaction  of  looking  round  a  ghostly  corner 
and  seeing  it,  or  not,  I  have  made  my  arrangements 
to  devote  this  winter  and  half  of  next,  to  it  (because 
I  couldn't  finish  the  model  this  season),  so  that  in  a 
business  point  of  view  perhaps  my  asking  for  a  bite 
now  isn't  so  intolerable ;  only  it  looks  so  clutcliy,  which 
is  a  word  I  coin  for  the  occasion.  It's  but  a  nibble  I 
want,  not  a  large  bite,  just  enough  to  tickle  the 
Hooker  (of  Pakenham  firm).t  That  is  my  reason  for 
dropping  a  line.  You  see  my  imminent  fix  does  not 
discourage  me  from  having  a  shy  at  the  King's 
English.  Yours,   H. 

MRS.  JAMESON  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

16  Chatham  Place,  Brighton,  Oct.  10,  1859. 
My  dear  Hatty: 

Your    letter    (dated    Rome,    Sep.    26th)    and    the 

*  The  monument  for  Mr.  Crow. 

f  Pakenham,  Hooker  &  Co.,  Roman  bankers. 


150  HARRIET  HOSMER 

photograph  *  enclosed  are  lying  before  me,  and  I 
will,  as  truly  as  I  can,  fulfil  your  wishes  in  advising 
and  criticising,  but  before  I  begin,  I  must  say  two 
things  before  I  forget:  first,  that  I  did  obtain  the 
casts  from  the  Zenobia  coin  at  Paris,  but  they  are 
so  bad  as  to  be  utterly  useless  except  to  an  anti- 
quarian. I  keep  them,  to  show  you  that  what  I  said 
I  would  do,  I  did.  The  engraved  coin  you  will  find 
more  useful  and  you  will  find  it  in  the  collection  of 
coins  of  the  Roman  Emperors,  under  "  Aurelian." 
Secondly,  that  I  advise  you,  before  paying  any  atten- 
tion to  my  criticism,  to  refer  to  Mr.  Gibson,  not  men- 
tioning my  name  at  first,  but  merely  asking  his 
opinion  as  to  the  prints  in  question.  I  know  the 
malignant  sarcasm  of  some  of  your  rivals  at  Rome, 
as  to  your  having  Mr.  Gibson  "  at  your  elbow  "  and 
all  that,  but,  my  dear  Hatty,  I  should  think  lightly  of 
your  good  sense  and  your  moral  courage,  if  such  in- 
sinuations, irritating  to  your  self-esteem  and  offensive 
to  your  self-dependence,  could  prevent  your  availing 
yourself  of  all  the  advantages  you  may  derive  from 
the  kind  counsel  of  your  friend.  If  the  subject  were 
a  bust,  or  a  Puck,  it  would  be  otherwise;  but  in 
classic  sculpture  Gibson  is  first,  and  the  purity  of  his 
taste  is  to  be  depended  on  far  more  than  mine.  Do 
I  not  know  that  Gibson  himself  would  take  counsel 
of  Thorwaldsen  or  Canova?  Did  not  Raphael  take 
counsel  and  criticism  of  every  gifted  mind  around 
him?  The  originality  of  a  conception  remains  your 
own,  with  the  stamp  of  your  mind  upon  it,  to  give  it 
oneness  of  effect  as  a  whole.  Impertinent  and  ma- 
licious insinuations  die  away,  and  your  work  and 
your  fame  remain,  as  I  hope,  for  a  long,  long  future. 
Make  your  work  as  perfect  as  you  can,  never  fear  to 
adopt  any  change  of  detail,  any  hint  which  is  in 
harmony  with  your  own  conception  and  has  reason  in 

*  Of  Zenobia. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  151 

it,  and  for  details  of  drapery  and  flow  of  lines,  listen 
to  Gibson.  This  is  between  ourselves.  I  have  em- 
barked so  much  of  pride  and  hope  in  you  as  an  artist, 
that  I  should  be  in  desj^air  if  you  fall  into  the  error 
of  your  countrymen  and  sacrifice  what  alone  can 
be  permanent  in  style  and  taste,  to  a  vulgar  ambition 
of  self-sufficing,  so-called  originalit}^  which  is  as  far 
from  what  is  truly  poetic  and  original  as  possible. 
You  know  that  I  can  understand  and  feel  in  pic- 
turesque and  romantic  sculpture,  and  all  that  is  good 
in  the  renaissance  style  which  Mr.  Gibson  abhors,  but 
in  his  own  dej)artment  of  art,  his  taste  is  exquisite  and 
sure.  Your  Zenobia  is  a  classical  heroine,  to  be 
classically  treated;  therefore  when  you  are  in  doubt, 
listen  to  him  and  have  sufficient  dependence  on  your- 
self to  afford  to  do  this,  and  to  set  at  naught  the  gos- 
sip of  the  Caffe  Greco. 

Well,  now  for  the  photograph.  So  far  as  it  has 
gone,  your  statue  has  man}^  indications  of  being  most 
beautiful  and  fulfilling  all  my  ambition  for  you,  which 
is  saying  much,  but  now  for  criticism.  The  diadem 
is  too  low  on  the  brow,  thus  taking  from  the  value 
and  dignity  of  the  face  and  that  intellectual  look 
which  Zenobia  had,  I  suppose,  as  indicative  of  her 
talents.  .  .  . 

Now  do  you  want  a  stronger  proof  that  I  am  truly 
vours,  Anna  Jameson. 

TO  MRS.   CARR. 

D^dr  C:  Rome,  Nov.  12,  1859. 

Mountain  wouldn't  and  so  INIahomet  would,  vou 
know,  and  as  I  haven't  seen  the  shadow  of  your  fair 
hand  for  months,  I  must  trj^  and  console  myself  by 
looking  at  my  own  barbarous  fist.  But  I  haven't 
raised  it  for  the  purpose  of  reproaching  or  humiliating 


152  HARRIET  HOSMER 

you,  but  to  tell  you  that  I  have  been  brought  very 
near  you,  for  we  have  had  the  girls  in  Rome;  only 
for  a  few  days,  it  is  true,  but  in  another  eight  days 
we  shall  have  them  again  for  three  long,  delicious 
months.  They  are  such  darlings  in  every  way,  that 
I  stand  straighter  in  my  shoes  when  I  call  them  sisters 
mine.  Miss  Cushman  says  they  are  "  just  the  nicest 
American  gii'ls  I  know,"  and  I  say,  "  myself  ex- 
cepted," upon  which  she  looks  at  me  pityingly  and 
calls  me  "  fiend."  I  tell  them  that  they  mustn't  speak 
anything  but  Italian,  and  M.  has  already  got  as  far 
as  accidejite,  which  word  I  will  leave  you  to  ferret 
out  in  the  dictionary.  We  are  going  to  Albano  to 
meet  them  on  their  way  back  from  Naples,  make  the 
tour  of  the  Lakes  and  Nemi,  and  escort  them  to 
Rome  in  the  evening  and  initiate  them  into  the  art 
of  becoming  Romans  without  loss  of  time.  We  are 
always  ungrateful  wretches  in  this  world,  and  there- 
fore, grateful  as  I  am,  to  have  them,  I  say  to  myself, 
*'  If  we  only  had  them  all! " 

Don't  be  frightened  at  rumors  of  war  and  blood- 
shed here;  the  foreign  papers  are  full  of  troubles  and 
revolutions,  but  our  heads  are  not  off  yet  and  we 
don't  mean  they  shall  be.  Any  way,  whenever  we 
find  the  place  too  hot  to  hold  us  we  shall  take  E.  and 
M.  and  be  off.  So  long  as  the  star  spangled  banner 
streams  from  38  via  Gregoriana,  you  may  know  all 
is  serene. 

The  girls  tell  me  that  you  clutch  at  every  interest- 
ing statement  that  is  made  of  me  in  the  public  jour- 
nals of  our  glorious  republic,  and  that  you  are  to  have 
a  room  papered  with  them.  I  commission  you  now 
to  write  my  naughty-biography,  and  whenever  you 
desire  it,  I  will  die  to  hasten  its  publication. 

Your  H. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  153 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  ^^^^^  J^^'  ^0,  I860. 

With  this  I  despatch  the  design  for  your  monu- 
ment, which  I  submit  to  your  taste  and  criticism.  I 
hope  the  subject  will  speak  for  itself,  but  in  case  it 
should  not,  it  is  for  the  artist  to  throw  in  a  few  ex- 
planatory words.  What  I  have  selected  is  Christ 
restoring  to  life  the  daughter  of  the  Master  of  the 
Synagogue.  I  have  done  so,  because  you  desired  "  a 
Christian  subject,"  and  something  new,  as  well  as 
appropriate.  It  seemed  to  me  that  this  subject  com- 
bined the  three  desired  qualities,  as  well  as  possessing 
the  merit  of  being  sculpturesque,  and  as  far  as  I 
know,  and  as  far  as  the  memories  of  those  who  have 
seen  the  sketch  will  serve  them,  it  is  not  hackneyed,  a 
great  desideratum. 

I  have  been  in  doubt  as  to  the  text  most  applicable, 
but  upon  the  whole,  decided  that  the  text  in  the  design 
would  be  best,  as  more  fully  generalizing  the  idea 
expressed  in  the  group,  viz.,  "  I  am  the  Resurrection 
and  the  Life."  However,  I  leave  this  an  open  ques- 
tion, and  you  may  be  able  to  suggest  another,  al- 
though this,  to  me,  seems  not  amiss.  Then  the  words, 
"  He  that  believeth  in  Me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet 
shall  he  live,"  are  continued  upon  the  other  side.  The 
space  below,  upon  the  pedestal,  is  destined  for  the 
name,  the  wording  of  which  I  leave  to  you. 

So  much,  dear  Mr.  Crow,  in  few  words,  for  the 
design,  trusting  it  will  speak  for  itself  more  eloquently 
than  I  have  done  for  it.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  Mr* 
Gibson  approves  of  it  heartilj^  having  rendered  a 
verdict  in  favor  of  the  subject  and  composition,  which 
set  my  heart  greatly  at  ease.  .  .  .  Yours    H. 


154,  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Mrs.  Browning  in  speaking  of  the  people  in  Rome 
that  winter  and  spring  of  1860,  says:  *  "  Lady  Marian 
Alford,  the  Marquis  of  Northampton's  daughter,  is 
here,  very  eager  about  hterature,  art  and  Robert,  for 
all  which  reasons  I  should  care  for  her;  also  Hatty 
calls  her  divine.  She  knelt  down  before  Hatty  the 
other  day  and  gave  her — placed  on  her  finger — the 
most  splendid  ring  you  can  imagine,  a  large  ruby  in 
the  form  of  a  heart,  surrounded  and  crowned  with 
diamonds.  Hatty  is  frankly  delighted,  and  says  so, 
with  all  sorts  of  fantastical  exaggerations." 

*  Letters  of  Mrs.  Browning,  by  Fred  G.  Kenyon,  Vol.  II,  page  392. 


CHAPTER  VI 

1860-1863 

In    March     (1860)     Miss    Hosmer    was    suddenly 

called  home  by  her  father's  illness — a  slight  attack  of 

paralysis,  from  which  he  seemed  to  recover  in  a  few 

months. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Watertown^  April  18,  1860. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

You  will  not  be  surprised  to  find  me  at  home,  after 
the  sad  news  I  found  awaiting  me  in  Rome,  on  my 
return  there  from  Florence.  After  three  days'  prep- 
aration, I  took  the  Sunday  boat  for  Marseilles,  and 
was  fortunate  enough  to  catch  the  "  Persia,"  which 
brought  me  here  eighteen  days  out  from  Rome.  You 
already  know  how  I  found  my  dear  father.  He  is 
able  to  come  down  stairs,  but  does  not  seem  to  be 
gaining  strength.  He  will  worry  about  his  affairs, 
but  I,  who  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  now,  know 
something  of  their  real  condition,  find  they  are  by 
no  means  so  ruinous  as  they  have  been  represented 
to  me.  He  bade  me  look  over  all  his  papers,  and 
even  break  the  seal  of  tlie  letter  of  which,  he  says, 
you  have  a  copy.  (That  letter  contained  his  only 
bequest.  He  left  his  daughter  to  his  friend.*  Thus 
at  his  death,  which  occin^red  two  years  later,  her  sec- 
ond father  became  her  only  one.  How  more  than 
faithful  he  was  to  the  trust,  maj^  be  read  between  the 

*  Wayraan  Crow,  whom  both  before  and  after  her  father's  death  she  called 
"the  Pater." 

155 


156  HARRIET  HOSMER 

lines  of  her  letters.)  He  told  me  he  should  leave 
everything  at  my  disposal,  as  he  had  destroyed  his 
will.  And  that  the  only  thing  he  desired  was,  that  I 
should  follow  your  advice  in  all  matters.  Thus  much 
have  I  said  at  his  own  request,  though  I  tell  him  he  is 
worth  six  of  us  yet,  as  sometimes  he  really  seems  to 
be,  but  he  would  have  it  so,  and  made  me  promise 
to  repeat  to  you  all  that  I  have  written. 

Yours,  H. 

May  20th. 
Dear  Pater: 

There  is  no  great  change  in  my  father's  condition. 
He  suffers  no  pain,  and  altogether  is  very  serenely 
happy.  .  .  . 

I  suppose  you  have  read  Hawthorne's  new  book.* 
What  a  delicious  one,  as  a  j)icture  of  Italy  and  Italian 
life!  It  is  only  taking  the  words  out  of  another's 
mouth,  for  me  to  say  that  Donatello's  creation  is  one 
of  the  most  exquisite  poems  penned.  I  don't  know 
anything  half  so  ideal  and  artistic  as  it  is.  Of  course 
the  plot  is  nothing,  nor  did  he  care  that  it  should  be, 
I  fancy,  but  for  perfection  of  writing,  beauty  of 
thought,  and  for  the  perfect  combination  of  nature, 
art,  and  poetry,  I  never  saw  its  equal. 

June  10. 
My  father  walks  in  the  garden  and  sometimes  a 
little  bit  outside  the  gate,  and  gains  strength. 

June  20th. 

My  father  sends  best  love.     My  good  fortune  f  is 

an   elixir  vitae  to  him.     Pen   and  ink   can   scarcely 

tell  you  how  happy  I  am.    As  the  matter  is  all  signed, 

sealed,  and  delivered,  I  may  say  that  I  don't  think 

*  The  Marble  Faun. 

f  The  commission  just  received  for  a  statue  of  Thomas  Benton. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  157 

I  have  ever  been  half  so  tickled  before.  Think  what 
a  start  it  gives  me,  what  a  thing  to  have  a  public 
work!  and  above  all  how  rejoiced  I  am  that  it  will 
be  in  St.  Louis. 

June  22d. 
I  send  with  this  my  official  response  *  to  the  Com- 
mittee upon  the  Benton  statue.  I  have  had  many 
congratulations,  but  I  tell  them  to  wait  till  they  see 
the  statue.  The  best  compliment  they  have  paid  me 
is  in  saying  that  I  am  your  protegee.  I  am  glad 
others  recognize  the  truth  as  clearly  (if  not  as  grate- 
full}^)  as  I  do.  My  father  sends  love;  he  gambols 
over  Benton  like  a  young  lamb. 

July  8th. 
My  father  is  a  miracle  of  health.  He  drives  about, 
w^alks,  is  farming,  haying,  and  what  not,  and  is  as 
bright  as  possible.  To-morrow  we  are  all  going  to 
Walpole,  then  I,  to  St.  Louis.  I  shall  sail  earlier 
than  I  had  planned  and  have  a  notion  of  going  back 
in  the  "  Great  Eastern  ";  she  is  a  capital,  quiet  sailer. 

Yours,  H. 

The  artist  received  this  letter  while  in  Watertown 
after  her  hurried  voyage  home: 

LADY  EASTLAKE  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

7,  FiTZROY  Square,  London,  13th  April,  1860. 

31  y  dear  Miss  Hosmer: 

The  little  kind  pencil  note  reached  me  duly,  tho' 
to  my  great  surprise,  on  the  29th  of  last  month, 
and  I  felt  quite  unhappy  to  think  that  I  could  do 
nothing  for  your  comfort  in  your  rapid  flight  through 
this  country. 

*  See  Appendix  A. 


158  HARRIET  HOSMER 

I  hope  I  am  not  too  late  in  these  few  lines  to  you 
over  the  Atlantic,  for  I  cannot  resist  taking  advan- 
tage of  your  address.  Most  cordially  do  I  hope  that 
you  have  found  your  father  recovering,  and  that  the 
presence  of  his  only  child  will  prove  the  best  cordial 
for  him  and  the  best  reward  of  your  exertions. 
Should  his  life  and  health  be  granted  to  you,  we  shall 
still  hope  for  a  happy  meeting  Jicre  as  we  had  planned. 
Perhaps  your  return  will  be  delaj^ed  till  such  time 
as  you  can  meet  dear  Mr.  Gibson  at  this  house. 
Then  if  you  are  spared  anxiety  regarding  your  father, 
we  may  be  as  happy  as  mortals  can  be! 

As  regards  the  bust  of  Miss  Cushman,  I  have  been 
twice  to  Colnaghi's  about  it.  The  first  time  it  was 
not  unpacked,  but  they  had  meanwhile  had  a  letter 
from  good  Miss  C.  It  remains  at  Colnaghi's — and 
is  as  much  seen  there  as  it  would  have  been  in  the 
small  vault  of  our  Academy. 

When  you  return  I  expect  you  will  find  a  first- 
rate  exhibition  open.  Sir  Charles  *  is  very  much  de- 
lighted with  what  he  has  seen,  and  is  just  now  all  day 
long  at  the  Academy,  seeing  pictures  till  he  is  quite 
exhausted. 

We  have  been  very  unhappy  at  the  death  of  dear 
Mrs.  Jameson,  who  was  a  most  kind  friend.  Her 
death  was  so  sudden  that  many  who  loved  her  much 
saw  the  first  announcement  of  it  in  the  "  Times."  She 
has  left  a  work  uncompleted,  and  there  is  some  idea 
that  I  may  attempt  to  take  her  place,  but  this  de- 
pends on  the  amount  of  labour  required,  and  on  other 
conditions  which  are  not  ascertained  yet.  If,  however, 
my  much  interrupted  time  permits,  my  true  regard 
for  the  dear  lady  would  prompt  me  to  do  my  best. 

Now,  dear  Miss  Hosmer,  let  me  have  a  few  lines 
from  you,  again,  telling  me  of  your  father,  and  in 
what  way  we  can  do  something  for  you  on  your  re- 

*  Sir  Charles  Eastlake,  president  of  the  Royal  Academy. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  159 

turn.     I  trust  the  "  Persia "  treated  you  well.     We 
thought  much  of  you  on  your  way. 
Believe  me, 

Yours  affectionately, 

Elizabeth  Eastlake. 


SIR  HENRY  LAYARD  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

138  Piccadilly,  London,  27th  June,  1860. 

My  dear  Miss  Hosmer: 

I  was  much  grieved  to  hear  of  the  cause  of  your 
sudden  departure  from  Rome.  I  have  not  heard  how 
you  found  your  father  on  your  arrival  in  America. 
I  most  sincerely  hope  that  he  has  been  spared  to  you, 
and  that  his  health  will  again  be  such  as  not  to  cause 
you  anxiety. 

Your  friends  in  England — and  they  are  many  and 
very  enthusiastic  and  affectionate,  were  looking  for- 
ward to  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  in  this  country. 
I  had  counted  upon  many  a  pleasant  chat,  and  have 
been  daily  enquiring  of  the  Eastlakes  whether  they 
had  any  news  of  you.  We  long,  too,  to  see  Mr.  Gib- 
son again. 

I  have  been  recently  reading  Transformation,* 
so  you  may  easily  fancy  that  you  have  been  very 
constantly  in  my  thoughts.  I  of  course  concluded 
that  you  were  the  heroine, — but  I  cannot  believe  that 
you  ever  threw  a  gentleman  over  the  Tarpeian  Rock, 
— even  after  a  picnic  in  the  Coliseum!  Then  as  to  the 
other  lady,  I  could  not  fancy  you  with  doves  and  a 
pet  Madonna, — so  I  gave  up  all  attempts  at  further 
identification.  Notwithstanding  m}^  admiration  for 
the  style  and  fancy  of  j^our  romancer,  I  cannot  for- 
give his  attack  upon  an  excellent  artist  and  his  col- 
ored statues    (tho'   probably  you   will   sympathize   in 

*  The  Marble  Faun,  by  Hawthorne. 


160  HARRIET  HOSMER 

his  views  upon  the  latter,  after  the  cold  you  caught 
by  my  means  in  visiting  the  sarcophagus  in  the  Jew- 
ish Catacomb).  I  have  been  fancying  ever  since,  that 
you  owed  me  a  grudge  on  account  of  the  pilgrimage. 
Mr.  Hawthorne  is  unfair  to  Mr.  Gibson — I  cannot 
understand  a  man  of  his  refinement  objecting  to  the 
colored  Venus  and  figures  on  the  ground  he  takes; 
as  a  mere  matter  of  taste,  the  question  is  altogether 
different.  As  to  the  "  fact "  of  the  ancients  coloring 
their  statues,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  Whether  it 
is  good  taste  or  not,  so  to  do,  may  be  questioned,  but 
that  it  should  be  considered  improper,  I  cannot  under- 
stand. 

I  want  to  hear  about  your  Zenobia.  Is  she  yet 
turned  into  a  pillar  of  marble,  for  the  admiration  of 
posterity,  or  does  she  still  stand  in  her  frail  mortal 
clay?  The  photographs  which  you  sent  Mrs.  M.  have 
been  very  greatly  admired,  and  I  hope  that  ere  long 
the  statue  itself  will  be  placed  in  some  place  worthy 
to  receive  it.  You  have  probably  heard  that  there 
is  to  be  a  great  universal  exhibition  in  England  in 
1862 — upon  the  same  principle  as  the  previous  one, 
at  which  Powers  showed  his  Greek  Slave.  I  hope  you 
will  be  induced  to  send  something,  that  the  women 
and  men  of  England  may  know  what  a  young  lady 
of  genius,  with  the  inestimable  qualities  of  persever- 
ance and  determination,  can  effect. 

I  have  nothing  good  to  tell  you  of  English  art. 
Watts'  fresco  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Hall  is  the  only  mod- 
ern work  of  any  credit  to  us.  We  are  raising  monu- 
ments right  and  left,  but  this  kind  of  encouragement 
does  not  seem  to  do  much  for  the  development  of  art. 
I  have  just  been  looking  at  three  huge  guardians  in 
bronze,  who  are  bound  like  Andromeda  to  a  rock 
(except  that  they  are  provided  with  great  coats  of 
bearskin),  to  commemorate  the  Crimean  War,  and 
the  Guards  who  perished  in  it.     I  am  on  a  committee 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  161 

to  raise  a  statue  to  Lord  Lyons,  in  St.  Paul's,  and 
am  in  despair. 

The  public  are  wild  about  a  picture  by  Mr.  Hol- 
man  Hunt,  a  pre-raphaelite.  He  has  been  some  years 
at  it.  The  picture  represents  a  building  supposed 
to  be  the  Jewish  Temple,  with  thousands  of  pieces  of 
coloured  glass  and  a  pavement  of  variegated  marble; 
then  see  also  Christ,  the  Virgin, — the  Doctors, — but 
they  are  less  important  than  the  fly  flappers  and  the 
ostrich  eggs.  All  this  is  reviving  the  true  principles 
of  art!  I  see  no  hope  for  this  school,  which  at  one 
time  certainly  promised  great  things.  .  .  . 

With  every  good  wish  for  your  health  and  happi- 
ness, I  am,  my  dear  Miss  Hosmer, 

Yours  sincerely, 

A.  H.  Layard. 

The  following  letter  was  received  while  the  artist 
was  still  in  Watertown: 


MRS.  CHILD  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Dear  Hatty:  Wayland,  Sep.  16,  1860. 

...  I  made  a  pleasant  excursion  last  week,  to  a 
friend's.  It  was  a  quaint  old-fashioned  little  cottage 
close  by  a  mill,  surrounded  by  graceful  trees  and 
shrubbery,  through  which  the  bright  waters  glanced 
in  every  direction.  It  was  one  of  the  most  picturesque 
spots  I  ever  saw.  The  owners  are  poor  in  worldly 
wealth,  but  rich  in  artistic  cultivation;  and  everj^- 
thing  bore  the  impress  of  their  characters.  It  is 
wonderful  and  altogether  beautiful,  this  predominance 
of  soul  over  matter. 

Whittier,  the  poet,  lives  a  few  miles  from  them, 
and  they  proposed  to  drive  me  to  his  house.  It  was  a 
lovely  ride  along  the  side  of  the  sparkling  Merrimack 


162  HARRIET  HOSMER 

all  the  way.  Whittier  is  an  old  anti-slavery  friend  and 
was  rejoiced  to  see  me.  He  is  a  man  of  rare  genius, 
the  flame  of  which  seems  to  burn  brighter  as  he  grows 
older.  He  is  one  of  those  whom  you  wanted  to  have 
"  hung "  alongside  of  me !  and  Frank  Shaw  and 
Sarah  Shaw  and  George  Kussell  and  James  Russell 
Lowell  and  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  and  Wendell 
Phillips  so  beautiful,  so  eloquent,  and  so  brave;  and 
William  Lloyd  Garrison,  "  the  noblest  Roman  of 
them  all."  If  you  had  had  your  will,  little  "  Missouri 
Ruffian"  that  you  are!  and  had  exterminated  the 
abolitionists,  let  me  tell  you,  you  would  have  destroyed 
the  wheat  of  the  country  and  left  nothing  but  the 
chaff.     But  you  didn't  know  it,  so  I  forgive  you. 

Page  has  come  home  with  his  wife  and  boy.  He 
seems  happier  than  we  ever  saw  him,  and  is  now 
positively  certain,  (as  he  ever  has  been,)  that  he  has 
mastered  all  the  secrets  of  art,  and  is  sure  of  success, 
triumphant  success. 

I  hope  you  won't  get  into  a  fight  with  any  of  your 
rivals  and  settle  the  question  with  Bowie  knives  and 
revolvers,  Missouri  fashion.  I  can  send  you  a  Bowie 
knife  bearing  the  motto,  "  Death  to  Abolitionists," 
if  you  want  it,  but  Bowie  knives  won't  kill  us.  God 
bless  you,  dear  little  Ruffian! 

Always  your  affectionate  friend, 

L.  Maria  Child. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Watertown,  September,  1860. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

I  am  afraid  I  must  delay  my  visit  to  you  for  the 
Prince  *  comes  to  Boston  on  October  14th  and  Mr. 
Gibson  would  take  my  head  off  if  I  did  not  do  the 
civil.  H. 

*  The  Prince  of  Wales. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  163 

Watertown,  October  19th. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

Well,  I  went  to  the  great  Ball  *  last  night,  and  a 
very  jolly  time  I  had  of  it.  The  room  was  crowded 
to  the  extent  of  eight  thousand  persons,  and  more  in 
the  chinks.  The  hall  was  decorated  with  devices, 
crests,  banners,  flowers,  and  all  sorts  of  pretty 
things,  and  the  general  effect  was  pleasing,  though 
in  detail  it  might  have  been  improved.  The  Prince 
and  suite  appeared  in  process  of  time  in  a  royal  box, 
and  having  remained  a  few  minutes  to  gaze,  but  more 
particularly  to  be  gazed  at,  descended  to  the  floor. 
He  looks  a  little  fagged  as  well  he  may,  but  seemed 
in  good  spirits.  Mr.  Everett  came  to  me  and  said  I 
must  go  up  with  him,  whereupon  I  did.  The  Prince 
recognized  me  at  once  and  shook  hands  most  cordially. 
Afterwards,  when  I  was  prowling  with  Lord  Lyons, 
he  came  up  to  me  and  said  how  fond  he  was  of  my 
Puck,  which  now  is  in  his  rooms  at  Oxford.  After 
supper  there  was  more  prowling  and  we  got  home  at 
three  o'clock  a.m.     So  endeth  the  Ball. 

Later  Miss  Hosmer  went  to  St.  Louis  to  confer 
with  the  committee  about  the  statue  of  Benton,  and 
then  started  back  to  the  East,  to  sail  for  Italy.  The 
friend  whom  she  had  been  visiting  accompanied  her 
to  Boston,  and  on  their  way  they  made  a  pleasant 
detour  as  is  explained  in  this  letter: 

Cleveland,  Monday  night,  Oct.,  1860. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

Pray  open  your  eyes  at  our  being  here.  We  got 
on  swimmingly  up  to  the  moment  when  I  rashly  in- 
vested in  a  newspaper,  which  informed  us  that  Mrs. 

*  Given  to  the  Prince  of  Wales  in  Boston. 


164  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Kemble  was  to  read  "  Othello  "  to-night  in  Cleveland. 
I  at  once  collared  a  brakeman,  who  collared  the 
baggage-master,  who  collared  our  trunks  for  us,  and 
here  we  are  and  making  a  very  decent  appearance. 
We  have  seen  Mrs.  Kemble,  who  gave  us  one  of  her 
sweetest  receptions,  and  we  are  off  with  her,  in  about 
twenty  minutes,  to  hear  "  Othello."  Now  isn't  that 
being  spry  and  energetic?  I  lose  a  day  by  it,  but 
must  make  it  up  somehow,  and  if  I  can't,  Gabriel 
must  call  it  even  at  the  last  trump.  I  never  saw  Mrs. 
Kemble  looking  better.  She  is  going  from  here  to  St. 
Louis,  and  she  is  to  be  in  Rome  next  winter! 

We  got  through  last  night  on  the  train  very  well, 
and  had  hot  tea  on  every  practicable  occasion.  We 
are  off  to-morrow  morning  at  seven  o'clock,  and  don't 
know  what  time  we  shall  get  to  bed  to-night,  as  we 
sup  with  Mrs.  Kemble  after  the  reading.     Isn't  it  a 

^'■°'''=-  Yours,  H. 

jy        p  /     .  Lenox,  Thursday  morning. 

I  will  now  give  you  the  latest.  If  we  reach  Boston 
without  accident  I  shall  set  this  down  as  one  of  the 
most  successful  and  delightful  journeys  ever  accom- 
plished. When  we  arrived  in  Pittsfield  yesterday, 
there  seemed  a  dearth  of  stages,  and  those  who  owned 
horse-flesh  took  advantage  of  the  Cattle  Fair  raging 
in  the  town,  to  demand  six  dollars  (!!!)  for  a  con- 
veyance to  Lenox  (six  miles).  That  we  thought  too 
much  of  an  imposition  for  even  Beef  to  extenuate,  and 
while  cogitating  upon  what  we  should  do,  we  fell  upon 
a  darkey,  who  oddly  enough,  had  been  in  Rome  last 
winter,  as  courier  to  Governor  Briggs'  son,  of  Pitts- 
field,  and  who  is  employed  now  in  the  depot  there. 
He  immediately  recognized  me  and  placed  himself  at 
our  service,  put  us  in  the  way  of  a  Shandrydan,  for 
which  we  paid  half  a  dollar  each,  and  arrived  under 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  165 

William  Curtis'  hospitable  roof  *  safe  in  body  and 
mind.  We  spent  the  evening  delightfully,  seeing 
Bessie  and  other  dear  friends.  Now  Mr.  Curtis  is 
going  to  drive  us  to  the  train  for  Boston.  There  is 
nothing  like  breaking  a  journey,  particularly  when  it 
is  broken  pleasantly.  Yours    H 

Immediately  after  her  return  to  Watertown  Miss 
Hosmer  sailed  for  Italy  and  writes  from  her  studio: 

^        ^r     r^  Rome,  Nov.  16,  1860. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

Here  I  am,  having  flitted  four  thousand  miles  as 
safely  and  comfortably  as  one  who  is  encumbered 
with  a  fat  body  can.  You  have  already  had  my  re- 
port as  far  as  Liverpool  and  London.  To  begin 
there  anew,  and  my  journey  to  pursue,  I  devoted  one 
day  to  London,  then  went  on  Wednesday  to  France, 
had  a  delightful  passage  across  the  channel,  so  quick 
that  I  went  sound  asleep  and  knew  nothing  of  the 
transit,  till  I  reached  the  other  side  and  bade  adieu  to 
my  native  tongue.  Took  rail  to  Paris,  where  I 
arrived  after  midnight,  and  went  to  Meurice's.  I 
abode  there  till  Friday  morning,  when  I  made  a  bee 
line  for  Marseilles.  Travelled  Friday  and  all  that 
night,  getting  to  M.  about  eight  o'clock  a.m.  and 
engaged  my  passage  on  the  "  Vesuvio  "  to  leave  that 
night  at  ten  o'clock  for  Civita  Vecchia.  I  disposed 
of  my  day  by  driving  about  that  most  unpicturesque 
of  towns. 

So  far  so  good;  and  now  begins  my  bad  luck,  for 
before  evening,  rain  came  on,  and  when  I  drove  to 
the  landing  and  pushed  out,  baggage  and  all,  in  a 
little  boat,  to  go  on  board  the  steamer,  the  darkness 
was    blacker   than    Egyptian.      Never    did    I    expect 

*  The  well-known  hostelry  of  Lenox. 


166  HARRIET  HOSMER 

to  get  on  that  ship,  short  of  a  corpse.  However,  we 
scrambled  up  the  wet,  slippery  ladder.  It  wasn't 
long  before  I  was  stretched  out  in  my  berth  and  wait- 
ing for  the  thing  to  be  off,  but  never  an  inch  did  she 
move,  on  account  of  the  weather,  till  seven  o'clock 
next  morning,  when  she  ran  down  seventy  miles,  and 
there  was  forced  to  lay  to.  One  hour,  do  you  think? 
No,  from  Sunday  noon  till  Tuesday  morning!  There 
she  was,  and  there  of  course,  were  we!  After  that,  a 
rough,  nast}^  passage  to  Civita  Vecchia,  so  that  in- 
stead of  arriving  on  Monday  morning  at  aforesaid 
port,  we  got  there  on  Wednesday  at  noon,  and 
Wednesday  night,  just  three  weeks  from  the  day  I 
sailed  out  of  New  York  harbor,  I  slept  within  sound 
of  the  bell  of  St.  Peter's. 

And  now  I  never  care  to  see  steamer,  boat,  mud- 
scow,  engine,  or  rail  again.  Heartily  tired  am  I  of 
meandering  over  the  world,  and  quite  ready  to  go  to 
work.  I  found  Mr.  Gibson  well  and  pleased  to  see 
me.  He  says  I  have  grown  tall,  and  I  tell  him  he 
has  grown  handsome!  Found  all  my  studio  things 
in  good  train,  and  my  marble  most  beautiful.  I  am 
in  the  direst  confusion,  sitting  in  the  midst  of  trunks, 
and  writing  on  anything  I  find  stationary.  Rome  is 
as  quiet  as  the  grave,  and  no  one  thinks  of  talking 
about  danger.  All  the  old  Anglo-Romans  are 
oacx^.  •  •  • 

Yours,  H. 

With  Miss  Hosmer's  love  for  stories,  she  could  not 
refrain    from    adding    this    postscript; 

You  know  poets  have  sung,  and  philosophers  (who 
perhaps  do  not  feel  like  singing  when  they  discover 
their  reputation  waning)  admit  that  the  nature  of 
fame  is  circumscribed  and  transitory.  Well,  these 
two  stories  would  seem  to  support  this  theory: 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  167 

Mr.  Robert  Hay,  who  was  the  private  secretary  of 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  (the  Iron  Duke),  told  me 
that  a  short  time  after  the  Duke's  death  he  found 
himself  in  Scotland,  and  walking  one  morning  in  the 
garden  of  a  friend  he  met  the  gardener  and  thus  ad- 
dressed him:  "So  the  old  Duke  is  dead."  "Who, 
sir?"  said  the  gardener.  "The  great  Duke  of  Well- 
ington," returned  Mr.  Hay,  somewhat  surprised  that 
the  gardener  was  not  aware  of  the  fact.  But  his 
surprise  increased  when  the  gardener  continued, 
"  Well,  sir,  I  am  sorry  for  his  family,  but,  poor  man, 
I  never  heard  of  him." 

The  next  story  is  my  master's.  He  was  crossing 
Mont  Cenis  by  diligence,  before  the  tunnel  was  made 
or  thought  of,  and  met  a  traveller  whom  he  at  once 
recognized  as  a  fellow  countryman.  Conversation 
followed,  when  the  stranger  spoke  of  the  pleasant 
journey  he  had  made  through  Italy,  but  he  said  he 
found  it  difficult  to  remember  Italian  names.  "  For 
instance,"  he  continued,  "  I  remember  one  queer  old 
place  beginning  with  R."  "  Radicofani,"  suggested 
Mr.  Gibson,  "  Ravacione,  Ronciglione,"  and  other 
names  somewhat  difficult  for  foreigners.  "  No,  no," 
said  the  stranger,  "  a  shorter  name.  I  remember  as 
you  entered  the  gate  there  was  a  large  church  on  the 
left,  and  a  lot  of  circular  columns  and  two  big  foun- 
tains in  the  square."  "  It  is  not  possible,"  said  Mr. 
Gibson,  looking  aghast  at  the  stranger,  "  that  you 
mean  Rome!"  "The  verjr  place,"  said  he,  "and  I 
could  not  think  of  the  name." 

And  still  another  stor\^  is  of  mj^  master,  which  illus- 
trates his  matliematical  deficiencies.  I  went  into  the 
studio  one  day  and  found  him  with  a  great  sheet  of 
paper,  upon  which  he  had  made  a  number  of  small 
marks.  There  were  seven  rows  and  seven  in  each 
row.     I  asked: 

"  Signor  Giovanni,  what  are  you  doing? " 


168  HARRIET  HOSMER 

"  Trying  to  find  out  how  much  is  seven  times 
seven." 

"  Why,  forty-nine,"  I  replied.  He  looked  at  me 
in  amazement,  and  observed  that  I  must  know  the 
multiplication  table.  I  replied  that  I  did,  and  he 
frankly  confessed  that  he  "  never  could  learn  the 
thing."  ^g^in  ^ddio.  Yours,  H. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  Homie,  Nov.  23,  1860. 

Having  traversed  half  a  hemisphere  and  having 
been  here  a  week,  I  have  made  various  small  sketches 
in  clay  of  our  Colonel,*  and  flatter  myself  that  they 
are  all  cast  into  the  shade  by  the  last  one  with  which 
his  ghost  has  inspired  me.  Thinking  the  matter  well 
over  on  my  journey,  by  the  time  I  entered  the  Roman 
gates  I  had  evolved  this  one.  I  discussed  the  subject 
with  Mr.  Gibson,  read  him  Benton's  speech  which  you 
gave  me,  dwelt  upon  the  individuality  the  statue  would 
acquire  if  treated  in  this  manner,  over  the  rather 
hackneyed  character  of  a  senator.  He  more  than  ap- 
proved of  the  idea,  and,  encouraged  by  his  approval, 
I  am  confining  myself  to  the  India  motto.  He  says 
he  is  "  willing  to  put  his  name  to  it  on  all  sides  "  as 
a  good  composition  and  well  expressed  idea.  The 
motto  is  "  There  is  the  East.     There  is  India." 

As  to  Rome,  tranquillity  pervades  it.  The  streets 
are  full  of  French  soldiers,  but  as  for  politics  and 
dangers  of  disunion  and  bloodshed,  I  heard  more  such 
sanguinary  conversation  in  one  day  in  America,  than 
I  have  heard  here  in  seven.  All  the  old  habitues  are 
back  and  Rome  is  already  quite  full  enough  to  be 
pleasant. 

I  find  my  studio  affairs  in  tip-top  order,  and  every- 
thing went  on  as  well  during  my  absence  as  if  I  had 

been  here,  thanks  to  Camillo.  ^^  tx 

Yours,  H. 

*  Thomas  Benton. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  169 

TO  MISS  DUNDAS. 

,^     ,  .  Rome,  Jan.  13th  (1861). 

My  dear  A:  ^         ' 

...  In  your  letter  you  expressed  horror  of  my 
beloved  and  angelic  steed,  and  Lady  Lyell  reported 
a  roll,  which  at  that  time  I  had  not  had;  but  the  very 
day  after  the  letter  reached  me  I  slipped  on  the  pave- 
ment in  the  Due  Machelli,  had  quite  a  severe  bruising 
and  sprained  my  thumb  just  enough  to  prevent  my 
holding  a  pen  until  now.  "  Voila  pourquoi "  I  have 
not  replied  sooner.     Was  it  not  odd? 

Bwt  to  go  back  to  the  subject  of  my  dear  horse, 
because  I  think  it  is  only  justice  to  his  equine  nature, 
and  to  my  equestrian,  that  we  defend  our  cause.  The 
insane  idea  seems  to  pervade  divers  brains,  that  he  is 
to  be  the  cause  of  my  demise!  I  utterly  protest 
against  having  made  my  arrangements  to  that  effect. 
I  grant  he  is  a  large,  powerful  fellow,  but  as  free 
from  vice  as  his  mistress,  and  nothing  more  than  that 
can  be  said!  In  short,  he  is  the  apple  of  my  eye; 
better  to  die  with  him  than  to  live  with  any  other, 
and  better  to  be  brought  home  (unlike  the  Spartans) 
on  a  riding  whip,  than  to  die  an  inglorious  pedestrian 
death. 

Mr.  Gibson  is  modelling  Bacchus,  and  a  very  fine 
thing  it  will  be.  The  subject  certainly  is  not  new, 
but  he  is  treating  it  very  beautifully  and  simply.  Mrs. 
P.  is  becoming  very  much  disturbed  and  vexed  at 
his  withholding  the  Venus,  but  the  days  of  Pygmalion 
are  returning,  and  I  am  sure  until  the  Venus  wanders 
over  to  Liverpool  herself,  she  will  never  get  beyond 
the  precincts  of  the  studio. 

If  you  have  not  already  been,  pray  go  and  see 
Rosa  Bonheur  and  write  me  all  about  her.  Mrs. 
Browning  excepted,  I  do  not  know  a  woman  for 
whom  I  have  more  respect  and  admiration  than  for 


170  HARRIET  HOSMER 

her.  I  was  greatly  disappointed  at  not  being  able 
to  find  her  when  I  was  in  Paris,  but  she  was  in  the 
country,  and  so  of  course  I  couldn't  even  catch  a 
glimpse  of  her  studio.  I  wonder  she  doesn't  come  to 
Rome,  at  least  for  a  time,  for  the  whole  Campagna 
would  be  her  studio,  and  she  would  see  it  in  all  its 
wonderful  beauty.  Fancy  the  picture  she  might  make 
of  those  regal  gray  oxen  and  those  dragons  of 
fidelity,  the  Campagna  dogs!  Browning  told  me  she 
had  half  an  idea  of  coming,  and  it  is  the  most  friendly 
advice  one  could  give  her. 

I  wish  you  were  here  to  criticise  my  Fountain,  the 
story  of  Hylas  and  the  Water  Nymphs,  as  perhaps 
I  showed  you  in  London.  I  had  a  letter  from  our 
dear  friend  a  few  days  ago,  speaking  of  your  visit 
to  her  last  summer,  and  of  lying  under  the  trees  and 
I  dare  say  reading  the  "  Lotus  Eaters."  Happy 
creatures!  Meanwhile  I  was  visiting  the  whale,  lying 
on  my  back,  'tis  true,  but  instead  of  rejoicing  my 
eyes  over  the  Lotus,  I  sickened  my  head  and  heart, 
aye,  and  stomach  too,  over  the  Eaters  who  consumed 
or  would  have  consumed  the  main-mast  and  rejuve- 
nated themselves  on  anything  else  besides  Lotus. 
Truly  a  sea-life  is  a  horror.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  ^^^^^  ^^^'  2^,  1861. 

Now  comes  your  turn,  and  it  would  have  come  be- 
fore, except  that  I  felt  I  had  better  not  show  my 
face  or  hand  until  it  could  be  accompanied  by  the 
drawing  (for  Benton).  Now,  unless  the  winds  are 
capricious  and  the  mail  bags  treacherous,  you  have  it 
already  before  your  eyes,  and  I  earnestly  trust  in 
good  condition,  the  sea  having  dealt  with  its  interior 
more  leniently  than  it  does  with  mine.  My  letter  to 
the  committee  (which  I  beg  you  to  lay  before  them) 
will  sufficiently  tell  the  story,  and  I  cannot  say  how 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  171 

anxiously  I  shall  await  their  verdict.  You  see  I  have 
made  the  bold  stroke  with  the  legs,  but  it  sounds 
bolder  in  theory  than  it  looks  in  practice,  for  at  the 
height  at  which  the  statue  will  be  placed,  so  much 
of  the  form  being  concealed  by  drapery,  the  absence 
of  boots  and  trousers  will  be  scarcely  obvious,  while 
on  the  other  hand,  it  gives  an  infinitely  higher  style 
of  art  to  the  work.  Mr.  Gibson  would  not  hear  of 
my  lumbering  up  the  figure  with  them.  He  saj^s, 
"  Tell  them  that  is  my  practice,  and  I  am  a  veteran 
in  my  art."  So  you  have  his  authorit}^  on  the  subject. 
I  am  going  on  at  once  with  the  larger  statue,  at  the 
risk  of  its  being  approved,  so  weigh  well  your  de- 
liberations, for  if  you  do  not  smile  assent,  my  only 
consolation  will  be  the  Tiber. 

Yours,  H. 

TO  — . 


T^  Rome,  Mar.   (1861). 

Dear  :  ^  ' 

Like  all  the  rest  of  us  who  are  under  the  peculiar 
care  of  Providence,  you  and  yours  have  been  ill  and 
I  am  anxious.  For  my  part,  I  am  beginning  to  re- 
cover my  physical  equilibrium,  but  there  was  a  time 
when  I  thought  the  whole  contents  of  Pandora's  box 
had  been  emptied  upon  my  hapless  head.  It  is  easier 
to  keep  well  than  to  get  well,  in  Rome,  where  if  your 
system  becomes  debilitated,  you  are  quite  at  the  mercy 
of  a  train  of  ills  which  threaten  and  howl  around  you 
like  the  wolves  round  Rizpah,  and  no  torch  but  the 
doctor's  prescription  to  keep  them  off.  However, 
both  the  wolves  and  the  prescriptions  are  gradually 
hiding  their  diminished  heads,  so  my  case  is  not  yet 
hopeless. 

I  had  a  discussion  yesterday  with  ]\Ir.  IMay,*  he 
is  a  great  woman's  rights  man,  I  find,  just  as  much 

*  Of  Syracuse,  N.  Y. 


172  HARRIET  HOSMER 

so  as  it  seems  to  me  is  reasonable,  that  is,  he  thinks 
every  woman  should  have  the  power  of  educating 
herself  for  any  profession  and  then  practicing  it  for 
her  own  benefit  and  the  benefit  of  others.  'Q^  don't  ap- 
prove of  bloomerism  and  that  view  of  woman's  rights, 
but  every  woman  should  have  the  opportunity  of  culti- 
vating her  talents  to  the  fullest  extent,  for  they  were 
not  given  her  for  nothing,  and  the  domestic  circle  would 
not  suffer  thereby,  because  in  proportion  to  the  few 
who  would  prefer  fighting  their  own  way  through  the 
world,  the  number  would  be  great  who  would  choose  a 
partner  to  §ght  it  for  them;  but  give  those  few  a 
chance,  say  I,^And  those  chances  will  be  given  first 
in  America.  "  What  fun  it  would  be  to  come  back  to 
this  earth  after  having  been  a  wandering  ghost  for 
a  hundred  years  or  so  and  see  what  has  been  going 
on  in  flesh  while  we  have  been  going  on  in  spirit! 

Yours,  H. 

SIR  HENRY  LAYARD  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

180  Piccadilly,  April  15,  1861. 

My  dear  Miss  Hosmer: 

On  coming  to  England  I  found  myself  in  the  vol- 
cano of  a  popular  election.  For  a  month  I  did  noth- 
ing and  could  do  nothing  but  roar  myself  hoarse  in 
pressing  my  virtues  and  political  qualifications  upon 
the  multitude.  I  was  returned  a  member  of  Parlia- 
ment, for  Southwark,  and  then  came  the  work  of  the 
House  of  Commons  and  hundreds  of  other  things. 
In  fine,  you  know  a  thing  once  put  off  rarely  ever 
comes  to  pass.  However,  to-day,  after  a  desperate 
resolution,  I  opened  a  bundle  of  unanswered  letters, 
and  the  photograph  of  your  design  for  a  political 
monument,  which  you  were  kind  enough  to  send  me, 
reminded  me  that  the  first  epistolary  debt  I  had  to 
discharge  was  to  you. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  173 

I  have  heard  vicariously  of  you  from  friends  who 
are,  or  have  been,  at  Rome,  for  who  can  go  to  the 
Eternal  City,  ever,  without  seeing  or  hearing  of  Miss 
Hosmer?  And  justly  proud  you  may  well  be  of  the 
reputation  you  have  made,  for  it  is  no  ordinary  thing 
for  a  young  lady,  in  spite  of  prejudice  and  fashion, 
to  fight  her  way  through  all  the  difficulties  of  a  sculp- 
tor's profession,  until  she  reaches  the  highest  rank 
of  it.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  have  rejoiced 
at  your  success,  not  onlj^  on  account  of  the  regard  and 
esteem  I  feel  for  you  personally,  but  because  of  the 
example  you  have  set  to  other  women.  I  have  lately 
been  interesting  myself  (as  the  term  is)  for  Miss 
Durant  (a  sculptress  whom  you  may  know  by  name, 
if  not  personally.)  She  has  been  competing  for  a 
marble  statue  to  be  raised  in  the  Mansion  House.  In 
representing  to  our  Lord  Mayor  and  Aldermen  the 
importance  of  giving  fair  encouragement  to  a  woman 
of  ability  and  energy,  I  cited  your  case.  I  am  glad 
to  say  that  Miss  D.  has  succeeded,  and  is  now  about 
to  execute  a  statue  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's 
"  Gentle  Shepherdess "  in  white  marble,  seven  feet 
high.  I  hope  she  will  succeed,  as  I  look  upon  the 
experiment  as  one  of  much  interest  and  importance. 

I  presume  you  have  long  since  got  over  all  j^our 
difficulties  concerning  your  senator's  extremities,  of 
which  you  wrote  so  pathetically  to  me.  They  are  ex- 
tremely awkward  things  to  deal  with  in  gentlemen  of 
this  period,  but  what,  may  I  ask,  would  you  do  with 
the  same  part  of  a  lady's  form,  if  you  had  to  devise 
a  colossal  statue  of  one  of  our  female  worthies  in  the 
dress  of  the  day,  to  be  raised  too,  on  a  pedestal?  I 
think  on  the  whole  you  have  had  the  least  delicate 
and  critical  of  the  situations  to  deal  with.  It  is 
really  a  triumph  that  you  should  have  been  entrusted 
with  a  great  public  monument  of  this  nature,  and  I 
cannot  tell  vou  with  how  much  interest  I  sliall  watch 


174  HARRIET  HOSMER 

your  progress  and  success.  I  am  afraid,  however, 
that  even  "  extremities  "  excluded,  the  subject  is  an 
ungrateful  one.  We  go  on  raising  statues  to  our 
heroes  and  public  benefactors  in  this  country,  upon 
a  safe  principle.  We  cast  all  in  the  same  mould  (not 
perhaps  an  heroic  one,  but  certainly  typical  of  our 
day),  and  make  no  distinction  except  in  that  which 
holds  them  up  behind.  Sometimes  it  is  the  stump  of 
a  tree,  sometimes  a  coil  of  rope,  sometimes  a  bale  of 
cotton.  Indeed,  the  hero  sculpturally,  as  well  as 
morally,  depends  upon  what  he  rests  on. 

It  is  too  late,  I  presume,  to  offer  any  observations 
upon  the  photograph  *  you  were  good  enough  to 
send  me,  and  upon  which  you  flattered  me  by  asking 
my  opinion.  There  was  much  in  it  I  admired.  The 
criticism  I  should  dare  to  make  (as  you  are  kind 
eno'  to  allow  me  to  speak  openly)  would  be  that 
you  have  given  the  composition  a  rather  too  cruci- 
form character  which  might  have  been  avoided  by 
raising  the  child  a  little  more,  and  you  would,  I  think, 
then  have  added  to  the  sentiment  by  giving  to  her 
the  expression  of  astonishment  of  one  risen  from 
the  dead. 

I  am  very  glad  that  you  have  taken  to  such  sub- 
jects instead  of  classic  ones.  You  have  a  wide  field 
open.  After  all,  the  great  end  of  art  is  to  touch  the 
multitude  and  not  a  class,  or  a  select  few.  The  most 
beautiful  drapery-lacking  Venuses  and  the  most  cap- 
tivating Bacchuses  fail  to  excite  any  real  sympathy 
amongst  men  in  general.  It  is  that  which  appeals 
directly  to  the  affections  and  sympathies  of  the  time, 
that  exacts  universal  interest.  The  great  painters 
and  sculptors  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries 
were  very  near  to  carrying  art  to  its  highest  stage  of 
perfection  in  this  direction,  when  unfortunately  re- 
vived sham   classicism   and  mad   heathenism   stepped 

*  A  sepulchral  monument. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  175 

in  to  spoil  them.     Don't  tell  Gibson  this,  or  the  next 
time  I  see  him  I  shall  have  to  run  for  my  life. 

I  have  very  little  indeed  to  tell  you  on  the  progress 
and  state  of  art  in  this  country.  We  are  bringing 
painting,  sculpture,  and  the  fine  arts  in  general  to 
pretty  much  the  same  condition  as  Manchester  manu- 
factures and  cast  iron.  The  condition  of  the  arts 
at  any  given  period  only  represents  the  condition 
of  the  people,  intellectual,  social,  and  political.  Art- 
ists are  now  crying  out  for  protection,  and  the  House 
of  Commons  is  going  to  pass  a  Bill,  a  kind  of  copy- 
right Bill,  to  protect  them.  Poor  people!  Mr.  Frith 
only  gets  <£9000  for  a  picture  of  a  railway  station, 
and  Mr.  Holman  Hunt  £6000  for  a  parcel  of  dirty 
Jerusalem  Jews!  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo  did 
not  want  copyright  acts.  I  have  some  hopes  of  your 
country,  and  I  trust  I  shall  not  be  disappointed.  A 
great  number  of  our  friends  look  forward  to  seeing 
you  in  England  this  summer,  and  you  must  not  dis- 
appoint them  as  you  did  last  year. 

Pray  give  my  kind  regards  to  Mr.  Gibson,  for 
whom,  as  you  know,  I  entertain  ver}^  great  regard. 
Let  me  hear,  too,  if  I  can  do  anything  for  you  in 
England.  I  will  not  behave  so  ill  a  second  time  as  I 
have  recently  done.  Hoping  for  your  forgiveness,  I 
am,  my  dear  Miss  Hosmer, 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

A.  H.  Layard. 


TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

^         nr     r^  Roi^iE,  May   (10)    1861. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  j    \     / 

Rome  is  rapidly  emptying  itself  of  forcstieri,  and 

I  am  approaching  that  period  which  I  truly  adore, 

viz.  when  I  shall  have  a  little  peace  and  quiet.     Oh, 

how  weary  I  get  of  the  eternal  round  of  strangers! 


176  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Such  crowds  as  have  been  in  Rome  this  winter! 
Sometimes  I  think  I  should  Hke  to  go  off  to  a  desert 
island  and  never  see  another  human  being  (nothing 
but  a  horse)  as  long  as  I  live.  However,  I  sup- 
pose that  wouldn't  do,  for  horses  wouldn't  want 
statues!  .  .  . 

Our  glorious  republic  certainly  seems  to  be  in  an 
uncommonly  bad  way,  but  we  at  this  distance  hope 
and  feel  that  matters  will  yet  be  arranged,  and  that 
our  dear  old  country  (dear,  if  not  old)  will  still  hang 
together.  I  suppose  clever  statesmen  foresaw  all  this 
when  Lincoln  was  elected,  but  I  am  not  of  that  cate- 
gory, and  cannot  say  that  I  was  quite  prepared  for 
such  a  storm.  After  all,  is  it  not  better  that  the 
crisis  should  come,  and  that  we  should  see  the  ground 
upon  which  we  fairly  stand,  than  that  the  Union 
should  drag  on  a  wretched  existence  being  union  in 
nothing  but  the  name? 

Removed  from  the  centre  of  action  and  excitement, 
the  arguments  of  sense  and  humanity  prevail  in  the 
minds  of  patriotic  Roman- Americans,  and  we  try  to 
think  we  are  not  to  be  reduced  to  Duchies  instead 
of  glorjdng  in  the  boundless  Republic.  Of  course 
we  await  the  arrival  of  news  with  much  impatience. 
In  the  meantime  don't  grieve  too  much  over  affairs 
which  seem  to  be  beyond  human  control.  Lincoln 
may  be  shot,  Davis  may  be  hung,  but  I  pray  God  to 
watch  tenderly  over  you.  Yo  ^o    tt 

^        7,^     ^  Rome,  May  23,  1861. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  -^ 

I  received  your  letter  of  the  26th,  and  it  made  me 
very  sad  because  you  are  so.  I  always  think  the  sky 
must  be  very  blue  when  you,  with  your  brave  heart, 
feel  blue  with  it.  By  this  time  let  us  hope  there  may 
be  some  glimmering  of  light,  and  that  our  country  will 
pause    before    actually    beginning    the   bloody    work; 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  177 

pause  and  reflect,  and  reflecting,  come  to  a  more 
rational  frame  of  mind.  The  English  journals  hail 
it  as  a  good  sign,  that  there  is  some  hesitation  about 
striking  the  first  blow,  and  entertain  strong  hopes 
that,  far  as  matters  have  already  proceeded,  there 
yet  may  be  found  a  way  of  bringing  about  a  real 
peace,  short  of  absolute  war. 

The  kindly  feeling  shown  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,> 
when  in  the  United  States,  was  the  best  evidence, 
after  all,  that  we  do  not  hate  the  English.  And  all 
the  articles  in  their  journals  deplore  the  state  of 
things  in  our  country,  as  if  the  misfortune  had  fallen 
upon  their  own.  I  have  heard  only  one  opinion  ex- 
pressed, that  of  the  purest  and  kindliest  personal 
feeling  toward  our  nation.  We  wait  with  great 
anxiety  and  impatience  to  hear  what  is  transpiring. 
Meanwhile  do  not  bestow  a  single  thought  on  me 
or  my  affairs.  All  in  good  time,  and  when  there  is 
such  a  weighty  topic  as  throat-cutting  to  be  dis- 
cussed, the  arts  may  well  bide  their  time.  .  .  . 

I  am  on  the  point  of  launching  another  composition 
of  mine  for  you  to  criticise,  a  fountain.  You  see  I 
am  in  luck.  .  .  .  Some  time  in  July  I  shall  pick  up 
my  traps  for  Florence.  How  I  wish  I  could  stay 
here!  but  I  have  my  hands  full  for  next  winter,  and 
it  would  be  a  foolish  policy.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  You  once  asked  me  of  Hans  Andersen.  Yes, 
during  his  stay  here  I  frequently  met  him,  and  more 
than  once  he  came  to  my  studio.  Before  he  left 
Rome  I  had  the  rare  pleasure  of  hearing  him  read  his 
"  Ugly  Duckling."  He  was  a  tall,  gaunt  figure  of 
the  Lincoln  type  witli  long,  straight,  black  hair,  shad- 
ing a  face  striking  because  of  its  sweetness  and  sad- 
ness. He  presented  a  personality  so  utterly  unlike 
all  my  preconceived  pictures  of  him,  that  I  was  slow 
to  grasp  the  fact  that  the  author  of  that  sweetest  little 
thing  ever  penned,  "  The  Ugly  Duckling,"  stood  be- 


178  HARRIET  HOSMER 

fore  me.  The  lines  in  the  pale  face  bore  witness  to 
the  hard  struggles  of  his  early  life.  Yet  it  was  per- 
haps by  reason  of  the  very  bitterness  of  his  struggles, 
that  he  loA^ed  to  dwell  among  the  more  kindly  fairies 
in  whose  world  he  found  no  touch  of  hard  humanity. 
Very  pleasant  he  was,  as  he  talked  of  art,  of  Thor- 
waldsen,  his  compatriot,  a  name  dear  to  all  lovers 
of  art,  of  Rome's  atmosphere  in  which  he  "  felt  he 
could  do  a  little  writing."  I  knew  of  course  his  book 
"  The  Improvisatore,"  redolent  throughout  of  the  at- 
mosphere of  Italy — of  Rome  and  its  Campagna,  of 
Naples  and  its  blue  seas.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

T^        71  r     >^  RoME^  June,  1861. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

...  I  see  that  confidence  is  restored  in  the  State 
of  Missouri,  which  after  all  may  be  as  reliable  in- 
formation as  that  of  the  prigging  of  Washington's 
bones,  which  statement,  after  having  produced  an  in- 
tense feeling  of  excitement  and  disgust  on  this  side 
of  the  Atlantic,  was  quietly  pronounced  a  humbug 
in  the  last  journals.  I  begin  to  find  it  scarcely  worth 
while  to  get  into  such  patriotic  frenzies;  one  doesn't 
like  to  have  one's  sympathies  and  feelings  lacerated 
for  nothing.  No  doubt  the  state  of  things  is  bad 
enough,  and  too  bad,  but  we  are  too  far  off  from  the 
battlefield  to  verify  defeats  or  victories.  Universal 
attention  is  turned  homewards,  and  Italian  affairs 
have  dwindled  in  the  European  mind  into  insignifi- 
cance by  comparison.  Count  Cavour's  death  for  the 
while  diverted  the  channel,  and  certainly  that  was  a 
frightful  blow.  This  country  has  lost  a  good  cham- 
pion in  him. 

I  send  a  photograph  of  my  fountain.  It  is  the 
Song  of  the  Siren,  and  while  she  sings,  the  Amorini 
on  their  Dolphins  stop  to  listen  to  her.  The  water 
falls  from  the  shells  which  form  the  vase,  so  they  will 


THE    FOUNTAIN    OF    THE  SIREN 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  179 

be  seen,  as  it  were,  under  the  water.  Mrs.  Browning 
dubbed  it  most  poetic.  Do  you  call  it  tragic,  comic, 
or  lyric  poetry?  But  never  mind,  wait  till  you  see 
the  model  I  am  now  making.  It  is  to  be  so  sweet 
that  it  ought  only  to  play  eau  sucree!  But  I  haven't 
given  you  its  history.  It  is  for  Lady  Marion  Alford, 
to  be  placed  in  the  conservatory  of  Alford  House  at 
Prince's  Gate  in  London,  where  it  will  be  seen  to  the 
best  advantage  by  those  who  can  best  appreciate  such 
things.     Isn't  it  a  jolly  commission? 

Yours,  H. 

A  friend  has  further  described  the  fountain  thus: 

"  A  Siren  kneeling  on  a  tall  rock,  surrounded  by 
water,  sings  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  flute  of  reeds 
which  she  holds  in  her  hand,  and  draws  around  her  a 
group  of  beautiful  baby  boys,  who,  on  the  backs  of 
dolphins,  listen  wdth  upturned  faces  to  the  fascinating 
songstress.  One  little  fellow  finds  his  dolphin  steed 
rather  refractory,  and  pulls  him  by  the  ear  (or  rather 
fin),  until  both  horse  and  rider  are  nearly  overturned 
in  the  struggle." 

Antigniano,  Aug.   27,   1861. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

I  doubt  if  you  have  ever  heard  of  this  place,  and 
I  cannot  wonder,  since  I  never  knew  of  its  existence, 
having  lived  so  near  it,  till  a  week  before  I  came 
here.  I  was  driven  out  of  Rome,  and  Providence  so 
ordained  that  I  should  join  a  party  who,  being  ruined 
by  the  war,  wished  to  combine  sea  air  with  no  ex- 
pense. And  I  may  truly  say,  this  is  the  place  for 
paupers.  It  is  a  little  village,  near  Leghorn,  fifteen 
hours  from  Rome,  and  a  great  discovery  for  the 
benefit  of  those  who  cannot  go  far  nor  fast. 

Tell   me   of   you   all,   in   this   most  trying   time   of 


180  HARRIET  HOSMER 

private  and  public  calamity.  Truly  we  must  have 
committed  some  great  sin,  to  be  forced  to  expiate  it 
in  this  manner.  .  .  . 

Sorrow  has  been  upon  us,  here  too,  in  the  death  of 
Mrs.  Browning.  Had  you  known  her,  no  one  could 
better  have  appreciated,  or  more  warmly  have  ad- 
mired her,  for  her  truly  angelic  character.  She  lives 
in  my  heart,  and  in  my  memory,  as  the  most  perfect 
human  being  I  have  ever  known.  To  have  seen  her, 
and  to  have  been  admitted  to  her  friendship,  I  must 
always  consider  as  one  of  the  happiest  events  of  my 
life,  inasmuch  as  in  the  study  of  her  character  one 
saw  to  what  a  degree  of  beauty  human  nature  may 
attain  even  in  this  unfavoring  world.  The  calmness 
of  her  death,  too,  was  a  fitting  close  to  the  beauty 
of  her  life,  for  after  thanking  her  husband  for  all  his 
devotion  to  her,  she  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder 
and  died  as  peacefully  as  if  she  were  going  to  sleep. 

Yours,  H. 

After  Mrs.  Browning's  death,  Mr.  Browning  sent 
to  Miss  Hosmer  a  photograph  of  her: 

Dearest  Hattie-  ^^^'''  ^^^'  ^^'  '^^- 

You  will  like  to  have  what  I  send  you,  I  know. 
It  may  be  a  long  time  before  we  meet  again  and  you 
must  remember  me  kindly.     God  bless  you. 

Ever  yours  affectionately, 

Robert  Browning. 

As  has  been  elsewhere  stated  the  legislators  of 
Missouri,  in  1860,  had  given  Miss  Hosmer  the  com- 
mission to  make  a  statue  in  bronze  of  Thomas  Hart 
Benton.  The  design  had  been  approved  by  the  com- 
mittee of  whom  Mr.  Crow  was  one,  and  he  received 
the   following   letter : 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  181 

JOHN  GIBSON  TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Bear  Sir:  October  25,  1861. 

Being  informed  that  you  are  chairman  of  the  com- 
mittee appointed  to  erect  a  portrait  statue  to  the  late 
Mr.  Benton,  I  venture  to  address  respectfully  these 
few  lines  to  you,  and  pray  that  you  will  lay  my  letter 
before  the  gentlemen  of  the  committee  over  which  you 
preside. 

The  other  day  on  my  return  to  Rome  from  a  visit 
to  England,  I  saw  the  model,  now  finished,  for  the 
bronze  statue  of  the  late  Colonel  Benton,  modelled 
by  Miss  Hosmer,  and  it  is  with  the  greatest  pleasure 
I   offer   my   opinion,   such   as   it   is,   upon   the   work. 

The  general  effect  is  grand  and  simple;  the  ample 
cloak  which  covers  considerably  the  odious  modern 
dress  is  rich  and  broad,  and  the  folds  are  managed 
with  great  skill,  producing  graceful  lines.  The  head, 
a  fine  subject,  is  reflective  and  well  modelled;  also 
the  position  of  the  hands  holding  the  map,  is  natural 
and  well  composed.  In  fact,  sir,  I  consider  this  work 
does  the  author  great  honor,  and  I  feel  it  will  give 
satisfaction  to  the  gentlemen  of  the  committee  who 
had  the  penetration  to  entrust  the  execution  of  such 
a  work  to  their  countrywoman;  and,  sir,  I  may  add 
that  the  Americans  may  now  boast  of  possessing  what 
no  nation  in  Europe  possesses,  a  public  statue  by  a 
woman,  a  little  woman — young,  with  great  talent  and 
love  of  her  art. 

I  have  the  honor  to  remain,  sir,  your  obedient 
humble   servant,  j^^^^  (.^3^^^ 

Sculptor,  of  Rome. 

The  plaster  cast  of  the  model,  when  completed, 
was  sent  to  Munich,  Bavaria,  to  be  put  into  bronze  at 
the  royal  foundry. 


182  HARRIET  HOSMER 

The  statue  is  colossal,  being  ten  feet  in  height.  It 
is  placed  on  a  pedestal  of  equal  height,  upon  a  founda- 
tion two  feet  above  the  ground,  so  that  the  head  is 
twenty-two  feet  above  the  level  of  the  beholder, — not 
too  much,  for  the  open  air  is  a  great  diminisher  of  size. 

The  figure  is  draped  in  a  Roman  cloak,  such  as 
Colonel  Benton  was  fond  of  wearing.  He  is  unroll- 
ing a  map  and  pointing  towards  the  Pacific  shores 
and  is  saying,  "  There  is  the  East.     There  is  India." 

TO  MISS  DUNDAS. 

Rome,  Monday,  Dec.  28,  1861. 


My  dear  A 

Fancy  my  joy  on  opening  your  welcome  letter,  to 
find  that  stern  but  precious  face  peering  at  me!  But 
fancy  my  still  greater  joy  when  I  found  the  assur- 
ance in  your  own  handwriting  that  I  am  really  to  see 
the  original  in  Rome  at  no  very  distant  day!  I 
heard  you  were  coming,  but  having  lived  long  enough 
and  grown  wise  enough  to  distrust  every  pleasant 
bit  of  intelligence,  I  refused  to  admit  the  conviction 
until  you  authorized  me  to  do  so.  You  will  find 
Rome  unchanged  save  in  the  loss  of  our  dear  Mr. 
Hay.  The  Studio  Gibson,  with  the  capo  d'opera  of 
a  hole  in  the  door,  is  quite  intact,  as  well  as  the 
master,  who,  being  informed  that  you  were  shortly 
to  arrive,  said,  "  Oh!  I  am  very  glad  of  it,  I  am 
indeed."  Pray  do  not  imagine  I  have  a  palatial 
studio,  not  a  bit  of  it,  a  very  modest,  unpretending 
one,  except  in  point  of  size,  near  Mr.  Gibson's  in  the 
via  Margutta;  a  temporary  one  until  I  can  secure  the 
plot  of  ground,  garden  and  all,  upon  which  I  have 
fixed  envious  eyes  for  the  last  three  years. 

I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  show  you  my  Zenobia 
before  it  leaves  for  the  great  exhibition,  but  if  you 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  183 

do  not  arrive  by  the  last  of  January  it  will  be  gone. 
I  am  very  busy  now  upon  a  fountain  for  Lady  Marian 
Alford,  which  shall  not  be  described,  but  shown. 
Here  I  am  rushing  wildly  on  and  never  wishing  you 
and  all  of  yours  the  haj)piest  New  Year  in  the  world, 
which  I  meant  to  have  done  at  first.  The  reason  why 
I  did  not  respond  at  once  to  yours  was  because  I 
wanted  to  send  you  my  photograph,  and  thought  by 
this  time  I  might  have  accomplished  it,  not  of  my 
head  alone  (oh,  no,  for  the  fact  is,  when  one  has  a 
nose  like  mine  it  is  of  no  use  trying),  but  on  horse- 
back, when  naturally  the  face,  and  the  impertinent 
s-center  of  it,  becomes  such  an  infinitesimal  dose 
that  it  is  not  obtrusive  nor  snub-stantial.  But  cir- 
cumstances have  conspired  to  frustrate  my  object, 
and  I  will  not  let  the  old  year  go  by,  or  the  new  one 
come  in,  without  reporting  myself. 

By  the  way,  I  hear  there  is  a  letter  waiting  for 
me  at  the  Poste  Restante.  Would  it  bore  you  too 
much  to  bring  it  along  with  you?  It  may  be  an  offer 
of  marriage  for  all  I  know,  and  those  chances  come 
far  too  seldom  to  neglect  any!  And  in  return  can 
I  do  anything  for  you  in  the  way  of  making  your 
arrival  cheerful?     If  so,  pray  make  use  of  me. 

Of  course  you  come  with  equestrian  intentions,  we 
have  never  had  a  ride  on  the  Campagna,  a  negligence 
we  must  atone  for,  without  loss  of  time.  I  don't 
know  that  you  are  aware  that  my  equine  family  now 
consists  of  two  members,  two  very  great  darlings 
whose  acquaintance  you  must  consider  indispensable 
for  the  sake  of  their  mistress.  .  .  . 

Some  rainy  day,  when  you  can't  lionize,  write  again 
to  Yours,  H. 

In  tlie  beginning  of  1862,  Miss  Hosmer  heard  of 
her  father's  death.  It  came  ratlier  suddenly,  and  she 
said  little  about  it,  for  of  her  sorrows  she  could  not 


184  HARRIET  HOSMER 

speak.  She  only  gave  herself  more  earnestly  to  her 
work,  to  forget  her  grief.  She  was  left  independent 
by  her  father's  moderate  fortune,  and  according  to 
his  expressed  wish,  she  placed  her  affairs  in  the  hands 
of  her  second  father,  Mr.  Crow,  by  whom  they  were 
judiciously  cared  for,  so  long  as  he  lived.  It  was  a 
coincidence  that  at  this  time  he  was  the  friendly 
caretaker  of  the  business  interests  not  only  of  Harriet 
Hosmer,  but  also  of  Charlotte  Cushman,  and  of 
Fanny  Kemble,  tlu'ce  of  the  distinguished  women  of 
their  day. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

r,        nr     r>i  RoME,  March,  1862. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

I  am  thoroughly  ashamed,  as  I  think  of  the  interval 
since  you  last  heard  the  sound  of  my  quill.  Weeks 
and  months  have  fled,  and  my  good  resolutions  have 
always  gone  in  search  of  the  fugitives.  Meantime  we 
have  been  in  a  state  of  perpetual  excitement,  relative 
to  the  war  news  from  home.  One  fact  is  clear,  that 
though  we  love  our  country  well  enough  to  live  out 
of  it,  we  yet  take  as  much  interest  in  its  welfare 
as  if  we  lived  in  it.  The  state  of  affairs  must  have 
been  deplorable,  and  nothing  to  be  thought  of  beyond 
powder  and  balls.  .  .  , 

You  don't  know  what  a  grand  place  they  have  as- 
signed the  Zenobia  in  the  English  exhibition.  A  small 
octagonal  temple  is  to  be  erected,  with  niches  on  four 
sides,  to  be  lined  with  Pompeian  red.  Into  three  of 
these  go  Mr.  Gibson's  colored  statues,  and  into  the 
fourth  my  own  unworthy  one.  This  structure  is  to 
be  just  in  the  centre  of  the  Exhibition  Hall,  with  an 
admirable  light.  This  is  owing  to  Mr.  Layard,  prin- 
cipally.     The    Prince   of    Wales   sends    his   copy   of 


m:: 


THE    FAVORITE   HUNTER 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  185 

Puck,  Lady  Marion  Alford  her  Medusa.  The  latter 
writes  me  that  there  is  nothing  to  compare  with  the 
bustle  and  whirl  of  London  in  view  of  the  exhibition. 
The  death  of  the  Prince  Consort,  although  it  will 
undoubtedly  cast  a  certain  shadow  over  what  was  his 
original  scheme,  yet  will  not  affect  its  ultimate  suc- 
cess so  much  as  was  at  first  feared.  .  .  . 

I  hear  there  is  a  wonderful  fellow  in  Boston  called 

Dr.  R ,  who  teaches  art  by  a  miracle,  and  that 

even  dear  Miss  E P hopes  at  the  end 

of  twelve  lessons  to  be  turned  out  an  accomplished 
artist!  Either  the  master  or  the  pupil  must  be  very 
sanguine  and  know  very  little  about  the  length  of 
that  road,   if  they   expect   such  happy   results   in   so 

short  a  time!  ...  ^r  tt 

Yours,  H. 

The  visit  of  some  dear  friends  in  Rome  ended  in 
great  sorrow,  and  Miss  Hosmer  writes: 

TO  MISS  DUNDAS. 

My  dear  A :  ^^^^^^^  ^P^^^  ^0,  1862. 

I  was  glad  to  get  your  letter  from  Paris.  It  as- 
sured me  that  you  were  all  well  and  so  far  safe  on 
your  journey,  and  it  assured  me,  too,  that  in  thinking 
of  me  among  the  first  of  your  friends,  while  your 
heart  is  full  of  sorrow,*  j^ou  count  me  very  near  to 
you.  I  have  been  wanting  to  write  ever  since  j^ou 
left  here,  but  I  thought  it  would  be  a  more  considerate 
love  which  should  withhold  from  you  what  must 
inevitably  recall  all  that  you  have  left  so  dear  to  you 
in  Rome.  I  have  followed  you  very  closely  in  thought 
and  sympathy,  and  have  gi'ieved  to  feel  how  very  sad 
must  be  the  meeting  at  home  with  those  whose  sor- 

*  For  the  death  of  a  younger  sister. 


186  HARRIET  HOSMER 

row  is  as  great  as  your  own;  but  a  kind  Providence 
never  permits  a  deep  affliction  to  visit  us  without 
sending,  as  merciful  balm,  sweet  and  consoling  re- 
membrance; and  He  has  given  you  the  most  comfort- 
ing in  dear  Bessie's  ever  gentle  and  happy  memory. 

I  am  sure,  my  A ,  that  }^ou  would  never  give 

such  depth  to  your  sorrow  as  to  become  unmindful 
of  how  long  her  sisterly  love  and  tenderness  were 
spared  you.  We  are  assured,  and  it  is  this  belief 
which  throws  sunshine  over  the  darkest  shadows  of 
life,  that  however  inexplicable  to  us  are  sometimes 
the  decrees  of  Providence,  they  are  forever  wise  and 
just  and  merciful,  and  that  sooner  or  later  we  shall 
have  wisdom  to  acknowledge  them  as  blessings. 

It  is  very  good  of  you  to  say  that  it  is  a  comfort  to 
you  that  I  shall  place  her  tomb  over  her,  and  surely 
a  loving  hand  and  eye  may  do  it  more  carefully  than 
a  stranger's.  I  will  do  it  as  if  for  my  own  sister,  and 
I  hope  that  it  may  be  worthy  of  her  and  of  your  con- 
fidence in  me.  I  have  lost  no  time  in  beginning  it, 
and  if  the  hand  could  work  as  fast  as  the  will,  I  would 
place  it  before  I  leave  Rome,  but  that  will  be  im- 
possible. Will  you  say  to  your  dear  mother  that 
we  have  been  obliged  to  make  it  of  marble  to  the 
ground,  that  is,  to  what  was  the  ground  in  the  de- 
sign. I  had  it  drawn  full  size,  and  I  found  it  could 
not  be  done  in  any  other  way.  It  required  a  larger 
block  of  marble,  but  it  will  be  very  handsome  when 
finished. 

I  will  indeed  come  to  Largo  this  summer,  I  want 
much  to  see  you  again,  the  more  perhaps  that  I  did 
not  say  good-by  to  j^ou  in  Rome;  but  it  was  best  so. 
It  would  only  have  been  sorrowful  for  both.  Pray 
write  to  me  again.  We  do  not  leave  Rome  till  June. 
In  London  I  shall  be  first  at  Lady  Eastlake's.  .  .  . 

Always  yours,  H. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  187 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

^        -,     ^  Rome,  May  15,  1862. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow.  •' 

With  events  crowding  so  fast  upon  one  another,  so 
exciting  and  so  important,  we  all  hope  to  hear  that 
a  conclusion  of  the  war  at  no  distant  period  is  in- 
evitable. News  of  the  taking  of  New  Orleans  has 
just  reached  us  and  is  of  course  most  important. 
Not  only  is  it  productive  of  misery  enough  at  home, 
but  they  say  the  suffering  in  England  from  the  war 
is  fearful  in  consequence  of  no  demand  for  work 
among  the  cotton  spinners.  My  only  fear  has  been 
that  some  foreign  power  would  step  in  and  make 
matters  more  complicated,  but  at  the  rate  at  which 
we  are  advancing  it  looks  as  if  we  were  going  to  settle 
the  business  ourselves.  But  what  am  I  doing,  talk- 
ing in  this  way  to  you  who  are  on  the  spot! 

We  leave  Rome  in  two  weeks,  that  is.  Miss  Cush- 
man.  Miss  Stebbins,  Mr.  Gibson  and  I.  Everybody 
is  wending  towards  England  to  see  the  Great  Ex- 
hibition. As  I  did  not  see  the  first,  I  am  particularly 
anxious  to  see  the  last.  Vnurs    H 

Further  letters  of  this  time  have  not  been  found. 
Letters  of  Miss  Hosmer's  were  often  sought  by 
autograph  collectors,  which  accounts  for  the  long  in- 
tervals occurring  between  those  given  here. 

The  next  year  this  letter  came  from  the  distin- 
guished astronomer,  Mrs.  Mary  Somerville: 

TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Spezia,  5th  Feb.,  1863. 
A  thousand  thanks,  my  dear  Miss  Hosmer,  for  your 
charming  photographs.    I  heartily  congratulate  you  on 


188  HARRIET  HOSMER 

your  brilliant  success  in  the  most  difficult  and  re- 
fined of  all  the  arts,  and  am  charmed  with  what  you 
have  so  kindly  sent  to  me.  INIary  Lloyd  writes  to 
Martha  that  the  bas-relief  j^ou  have  in  hand  is  ex- 
quisitely beautiful,  and  from  her  description  I  am 
sure  it  must  be  exquisitely  poetical.  I  hope  in  time 
to  have  a  photograph  of  it,  for  as  my  travelling  days 
are  past,  I  never  can  expect  to  see  the  original;  but 
I  hope  to  live  to  see  the  author  once  more  and  to  tell 
her  I  am  proud  of  the  triumph  of  my  sex,  but  she 
must  not  delay  too  long.  We  shall  be  here,  I  trust, 
till  the  end  of  autumn,  and  I  do  hope  that  you  and 
vour  friend  Miss  Cushman,  whom  we  shall  be  de- 
lighted  to  see,  will  come  this  way  and  remain  longer 
than  you  did  last  year.  I  am  sure  after  so  much 
mental  excitement  yow  must  require  rest,  before  you 
undertake  new  works.  Tell  Mr.  Gibson,  with  my 
love,  that  I  am  still  writing  more  "  nonsense  about  the 
sky  and  the  stars  "  than  ever  I  did,  besides  sinning 
mortally  about  things  on  earth.  Be  sure  you  re- 
proach him  for  not  sending  me  a  photograph  of  his 
Pandora,  which  I  am  dying  to  see.  At  the  same  time, 
you  may  say  he  shall  be  forgiven  gladly,  if  he  will 
bring  it. 

I  see  by  the  newspapers  that  you  have  been  boating 
in  the  streets  of  Rome;  the  same  has  happened  in 
Florence,  but  we  have  been  worse  off,  for  we  have 
been  living  on  an  island.  Torrents  from  the  moun- 
tains have  five  different  times  filled  our  streets  a  foot 
and  a  half  deep;  we  were  on  one  occasion  absolutely 
shut  up  for  two  days  and  nights,  and  an  old  English 
acquaintance,  coming  to  call,  was  ignominiously  car- 
ried on  a  man's  back;  and  as  the  dolphins  in  the  gulf 
are  no  longer  as  amiable  as  they  were  wont  to  be,  his 
wife  and  I,  scorning  anything  so  prosaic,  did  not 
meet. 

There  is  no  one  here  at  this  season,  and  we  contrive 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  189 

to  pass  the  time  very  well.  I  scribble  in  the  morning, 
read  the  newspapers  and  a  novel  in  the  afternoon,  and 
when  my  eyes  are  tired  play  Patience  at  night.  Mar- 
tha and  Mary  [her  daughters]  have  reading  and 
music  to  amuse  them  in  bad  weather,  and  drawing 
in  the  mountain  valleys  when  the  sun  shines.  They 
delight  me  by  bringing  bunches  of  beautiful  wild 
spring  flowers.  Though  no  one  can  admire  a  highly- 
cultivated  garden  more  than  I  do,  there  is  a  charm  in 
wild  uncultivated  nature  that  is  indescribable,  and 
which  in  a  few  years  will  vanish  from  the  greater 
part  of  Europe.  In  this  quiet  lovely  spot  there  is 
nothing  but  destruction,  preparing  for  an  arsenal,  a 
deposit  of  weapons  of  defence  as  well  as  annoyance. 

Tell  INIary  Lloyd  that  I  rejoice  in  the  prospect  of 
seeing  her  and  my  friend  Miss  Cobbe,  and  that  I 
wish  them  much  enjoyment  in  their  journey  to  the 
Holy  Land. 

Yours,   my  dear   Miss   Hosmer, 

Ever  sincerely, 

Mary  Somerville. 

Miss  Hosmer,  in  writing  of  her  first  meeting  with 
Mrs.   Somerville,  said: 

*'  In  returning  from  a  summer's  outing  in  Switzer- 
land I  met  Mrs.  Mary  Somerville,  and  by  invitation, 
visited  her  afterwards  in  her  pretty  villa  near  Spezia. 
On  entering,  I  found  her  busily  arranging  papers 
while  a  parrot  perched  on  her  shoulder  was  as  busily 
engaged  in  picking  her  cap,  an  attention  which  ap- 
parently did  not  in  the  least  distract  her  mind  from 
her  work.  '  This  parrot,'  said  Mrs.  Somerville,  ten- 
derly stroking  his  beak,  '  we  know  to  be  ninety  years 
old  and  maybe  more,  and  considering  his  age,  he  is 
a  very  active  old  boy.  We  have  much  in  common  in 
respect    of    activity    and    age.'      She    was    then    past 


190  HARRIET  HOSMER 

eighty,  and  at  that  time  was  occupied  in  revising  her 
'  Physical  Sciences.'  The  conversation  soon  turned 
upon  scientific  matters,  during  which  Mrs.  Somerville 
remarked  that  '  it  was  not  well  to  import  too  much 
science  into  the  kitchen.'  That  very  morning  her 
English  servant  had  given  warning,  adding  that  '  she 
could  not  remain  in  any  family  where  she  was  called 
bad  names,  that  Miss  Somerville  had  grossly  insulted 
her!'  Miss  Somerville  was  summoned  to  answer  to 
the  charge.  '  Yes,'  said  she,  '  I  called  her  a  parallel- 
obiped ! ' 

Carlyle  growled  out  one  day  that  '  Mrs.  Somerville 
had  never  done  anything  original.'  To  the  Carlyle 
mind,  wherein  women  never  played  any  conspicuous 
part,  perhaps  not,  but  no  one,  man  or  woman,  ever 
possessed  a  clearer  insight  into  complicated  problems, 
or  possessed  a  greater  gift  of  rendering  such  problems 
clear  to  the  mind  of  the  student,  one  phase  of  origi- 
nality, surely.  Mrs.  Somerville  with  her  two  daugh- 
ters came  afterwards  to  Rome,  but  eventually  moved 
on  to  Naples,  where  she  died  at  the  age  of  ninety- 
two,  vigorous  to  the  last.  To  her  the  book  of  Nature 
revealed  a  world  of  continued  enchantment,  whose 
wonders  she  loved  to  unveil  to  visions  less  keen  than 
her  own,  and  kindly  Nature,  as  if  grateful  for  being 
presented  in  so  fair  a  guise,  spared  her  the  last  pain 
of  humanity,  and  one  summer  night  called  her  gently 
away  in  her  sleep." 


CHAPTER  VII 

1864-1866 

To  return  to  Zenobia;  after  the  English  exhibition 
the  statue  was  shown  in  New  York  and  Boston,  and 
during  that  summer  (1864)  Miss  Hosmer  spent  some 
months  in  her  own  country.  Her  greatest  pleasure 
and  her  first  visit  were  to  her  beloved  teacher,  Mrs. 
Sedgwick,  who  was  ill,  and  before  she  returned  to 
Italy  she  received  from  her  this  letter: 

T^         j_  TT  Mj.  Lenox,  Oct.  27,  '64. 

Dearest  Hatty: 

One  more  good-by  and  God  bless  you.    I  had  great 

pleasure  in  seeing  you.     I  find  you  always   so  true 

hearted,   and  you   are   not   spoiled   but   improved   by 

success;   you   are   progressive.     Be   a  good   Christian 

and  remain  a  good,  bright  American.     When  I  get 

my  spirit  wings,  I  shall  surely  come  to  you,  though  I 

may    not    be    able    to    render    you    conscious    of    my 

presence. 

Your  loving  old  friend, 

E.  B.   Sedgwick. 

At  this  time  Mrs.  L.  M.  Child  addressed  the  fol- 
lowing letter  to  the  Boston  Transcript.  It  gives 
interesting  details  respecting  the  Zenobia.  She 
says: 

"  This  is  the  third  week  of  the  exhibition,  and 
nearly  fifteen  thousand  people  have  paid  homage  to 

191 


192  HARRIET  HOSMER 

the  Queen,  while  the  gallery  continues  to  be  crowded 
daity. 

In  the  notices  I  have  seen,  it  is  assumed  that  the 
face  is  altogether  ideal;  but  the  fact  is,  the  features 
were  copied  from  an  ancient  coin  of  the  Queen  of 
Palmyra,  to  which  the  artist  has  imparted  the  mingled 
expression  of  her  dignified  character  and  her  fallen 
fortunes.  To  me  it  is  more  interesting  as  a  like- 
ness than  it  would  be  if  the  head  were  purely  ideal. 
Cleopatra  and  Zenobia  were  descended  from  the  same 
line  of  Macedonian  kings,  and  both  received  a  won- 
derful inheritance  of  beauty;  but  neither  in  the  char- 
acter nor  person  of  Zenobia  was  there  any  trace  of 
the  voluptuousness  and  coquetry  which  distinguished 
her  royal  relative  of  Egypt.  It  was  her  womanly 
modesty,  her  manly  courage,  and  her  intellectual 
tastes,  which  first  attracted  Miss  Hosmer  toward 
her;  and  the  result  of  her  loving  study  of  the  char- 
acter is  this  marble  embodiment  of  the  Queen  of  the 
East,  by  a  Queen  of  the  West. 

When  I  saw  Miss  Hosmer  during  her  last  visit  to 
this  country,  her  whole  soul  was  filled  with  Zenobia. 
She  was  searching  libraries  to  find  every  allusion  to 
her,  whether  historic  or  romantic;  but  she  was  so 
much  in  love  with  her  subject  that  she  rejected,  as 
unworthy  of  belief,  the  statement  that  the  fortitude  of 
Zenobia  was  ever  shaken  by  her  misfortunes.  To  her 
imagination  she  was  superbly  regal,  in  the  highest 
sense  of  the  word,  from  first  to  last.  Like  a  genuine 
artist.  Miss  Hosmer  aimed  at  a  true  marriage  of  the 
real  and  the  ideal.  Hence  she  spared  no  pains  to 
ascertain  the  probable  admixture  of  Grecian  and 
Oriental  in  the  costume  of  Zenobia  and  her  court." 

The  poet  Whittier  said  of  this  statue,  "  It  very 
fully  expresses  my  conception  of  what  historical 
sculpture   should  be.     It   tells   its   whole   proud  and 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  193 

melancholy  story.  The  shadowy  outlines  of  the  ma- 
jestic limbs,  which  charmed  us  in  the  romance  of 
William  Ware,  are  here  fixed  and  permanent  (a  joy 
forever).  In  looking  at  it,  I  felt  that  the  artist  had 
been  as  truly  serving  her  country,  while  working  out 
her  magnificent  design  abroad,  as  our  soldiers  in  the 
field  and  our  public  officers  in  their  departments." 

While  at  home  Miss  Hosmer  indulged  in  some 
characteristic  verses,  and  the  why  and  wherefore  of 
them  may  be  thus  explained.  Rome  was  then  begin- 
ning to  attract  women  as  well  as  men  students  to  its 
treasures  of  art.  The  men,  who  had  hitherto  held 
sway  and  arrogated  to  themselves  all  the  advantages 
of  the  classic  city,  were  inclined  to  resent  the  in- 
coming of  sister  artists,  and  the  lesser  lights  were 
not  so  hospitable  towards  them  as  were  the  greater 
ones,  such  as  Gibson,  Crawford,  and  Story.  It  was 
even  whispered  that  the  gossip  and  chat  of  the  Caffe 
Greco  were  not  always  of  the  most  kindly.  This 
same  Caffe  was  long  noted  as  the  haunt  of  men  who 
formed  the  literary  and  artistic  element  of  Rome. 
This  was  not  because  of  its  comfort  or  luxury,  for 
neither  was  to  be  found  within  its  two,  or,  perhaps 
three,  small  rooms,  all  equally  dingy  and  smoke- 
darkened.  The  furniture  was  of  the  plainest,  and 
only  the  attraction  of  congenial  spirits  served  to  fill 
the  tables,  where  vino  ordinario  and  good  coffee 
were  served.  Evidently  echoes  from  its  walls  had 
reached  our  artist  and  awakened  her  witty  pen. 

The  following  are  the  lines  first  printed  in  the 
New  York  Evening  Post,  during  the  summer  of 
1864: 


194  HARRIET  HOSMER 

THE  DOLEFUL  DITTY  OF  THE  ROMAN 
CAFFE  GRECO. 

'Twas  in  the  Greek  Caffe, 

Half  screened  from  public  eye. 

We  sat,  not  many  months  ago, 
Melpomene  and  I. 

We  sat,  and  saw  in  that  long  room 
Upon  the  right  hand  side, 

That  souls,  though  made  of  sternest  stuff. 
Are  sometimes  sternly  tried. 

And  in  the  outer,  groups 

Of  artists  sat  apart. 
And  much  was  said  of  other  things, 

Tho'  nought  was  said  of  art. 

But  the  luckless  half-a-dozen 

Sat  motionless  and  mute ; 
Each  had  his  heavy,  brooding  thought. 

And  each  had  his  cheroot. 

When  rose  a  portly  figure. 
With  beard  as  black  as  jet. 

In  slightly  nasal  accents  said: 
"  We  all  know  why  we've  met. 

"  'Tis  time,  my  friends,  we  cogitate, 
And  make  some  desperate  stand. 

Or  else  our  sister  artists  here 
Will  drive  us  from  the  land. 

"  It  does  seem  hard  that  we  at  last 

Have  rivals   in  the   clay. 
When  for  so  many  happy  years 

We  had  it  all  our  way. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  195 

"  Those  good  old  times — alas !  I  feel 

That  I  have  said  enough, 
And  think,  with  due  respect  to  art, 

I'll  take  another  pufF." 

Then  rose  a  man  of  stature  small, 

The  smallest  far  of  them. 
And  mild  and  plausible  he  looked. 

And  hemmed  a  little  hem. 

"  No  fault  of  mine,  my  brothers, 

I  beg  you  to  recall. 
To  root  this  evil  from  the  land, 

I've  done  my  little  all. 

"  For  many  years  this  question  hath 

Employed  my  artist  mind; 
I  moved  with  caution,  and  with  skill 

And  strategy  combined. 

"  Nor   time,   nor   patience   have   I   spared, 

But  this  don't  seem  to  do ; 
Ye  all  know  that,  but  what  is  worse, 

Our  sisters  know  it  too." 

He  said,  and  looked  the  Roman, 

Although  a  trifle  small; 
Melpomene  half  whispered  he 

In  some  respects  was  Gaul. 

But,  Gaul  or  Roman,  loud  applause 

His  observations  hailed. 
Up  rose  a  third.     "  We  know  you  tried, 

What  if  we  know  you  failed.'' 

"  Wo  feel  full  well,  my  brother. 

That  truth  which  none  deny ; 
No  race  is  certain  to  the  swift. 

No  battle  to  the  sly. 


196  HARRIET  HOSMER 

*'  It  is  in  what  we  strive  to  do 
Our  greatest  merit  lies — 

Though  scarce  a  victor,  yet  in  you 
Our  chief  we  recognize." 

Whereat,  o'erspread  with  modest  blush, 
The  hero  rose  and  smiled, 

And  sang  his  little  song  of  thanks, 
Still  plausible  and  mild. 

Yet,  ere  the  song  was  fairly  sung, 

A  man  of  grizzled  hue 
Inquired,  in  somewhat  ursine  speech, 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do.f*  " 

Each  waited  for  the  other 

To  speak  with  vacant  stare. 

Until  the  awful  pause  was  broke 
By  him  of  silvered  hair. 

A  little  fun  was   in  his   eye, 
And  banter  in  his  tone: 

*'  I  deal,"  quoth  he,  "  my  brothers, 
In  canvas,  not  in  stone. 

*'  In  short,  I'm  not  a  sculptor ; 

So,  well  do  I  surmise, 
I  cannot  with  you  keenly  feel 

Just  where  your  aching  lies. 

*'  We  know  our  loving  sisters 
Are  somewhat  in  your  way; 

We  know  'tis  hard  that  while  you  work 
That  they  should  '  pat  their  clay.' 

"  Yet  for  your  present  ills 

The  remedy  I've  hit 
Is,  when  you  cannot  help  yourself, 

To  make  the  best  of  it. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  197 

"  And  then,  again,  my  brothers, 

One  point  attention  claims, 
Is  it  a  very  manly  thing 

To  battle  with  these  dames? 

"  I  sometimes  think,  for  when  I  speak 

My  mind,  I  speak  it  all, 
Recalling,  too,  what  others  feel, 

It  does  look  somewhat  small. 

"  Suppose  you  try  another  plan, 

More  worthy  art  and  you ; 
Suppose  you  give  them  for  their  works 

The  credit  which  is  due. 


a 


An  honest  and  a  kindly  word, 
If  spoken  now  and  then, 
Would  prove  what  seems  a  doubtful  point 
You  could,  at  least,  be  men" 


He  spoke,  and  sat ;  no  voice  replied. 

Each  lip  confusion  locks, 
And  nought  was  heard,  save  distant  sounds. 
Of  "  Coffee,  two  bajocs" 

A  furtive  glance  or  two  were  cast 

To  where  the  chieftain  sat. 
He  hemmed  his  hem,  and  each  moustache 

Was  pulled,  this  way  and  that. 

"  And  for  that  I  am  woman," 

Melpomene  was  heard 
Soliloquizing,  "  will  I  sing 

This  ditty,  word  for  word." 

The  clock  struck  ten ;  I  minded  me 

Of  friends,  at  home,  to  sup ; 
And  when  we  left,  what  little  mind 

They  had,  was  not  made  up. 


198  HARRIET  HOSMER 

It  was  while  Miss  Hosmer  was  in  Boston  that  the 
brilliant  litterateur,  George  S.  Hillard,  wrote  of  her 
design  for  a  gold  bronze  door: 

"  The  general  idea  embodied  by  the  artist  is  the 
progress  of  nature  from  evening  till  morning,  illus- 
trated by  imaginative  designs  drawn  from  the  air, 
the  earth,  and  the  sea.  At  the  top  of  the  door  is 
an  emblematic  female  figure  representing  Air,  and 
below,  on  the  left,  is  Earth,  and  on  the  right  Ocean. 
Beneath,  in  two  compartments,  the  main  conception 
is  embodied  in  various  designs  to  which  the  following 
may  serve  as  a  key: — 

AIR. 
EARTH.  SEA. 

Vintage.  Fishing. 


The  Twelve  Hours  of  the  Night. 
12  3  4 

Eolus  subdues  the      Zephyr  borne  to      Iris  descends  with  Night  rises  with 
Winds.                    the  Earth.                  the  Dew.  the  Stars. 

5  6  7  8 

The  Hours  sleep.       The  Moon  rises.  The  Dreams  descend.  The  Falling  Star. 

9  10  11  12 

Phosphor  and        The  Hours  wake.      Aurora  veils  the  Morning. 

Hesper.  Stars. 


Centaurs  and  Wood  Nymphs.  Tritons  and  Sea  Nymphs. 

It  will  be  seen  from  this  description  how  much  of 
poetic  feeling  and  genuine  invention  this  design  in- 
cludes, and  the  separate  compartments  are  singularly 
graceful,  animated  with  the  best  spirit  of  Greek  art, 
and  yet  anything  but  a  tame  imitation  of  existing 
types. 

Miss  Hosmer's  works,  so  conscientiously  executed, 
when  compared  with  each   other   show  uniform   and 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  199 

marked  progress,  and  they  show  how  diligently  she 
has  toiled,  and  with  how  resolute  a  struggle  after  the 
highest  excellence.  '  Without  haste,  without  rest,' 
has  been  her  motto.  Her  success  has  been  proportion- 
ate to  her  earnestness  and  fidelity.  She  has  already 
commissions  which  will  take  two  or  three  years  to 
complete.  With  her,  indeed,  the  '  past  is  unsighed 
for  and  the  future  sure.'  " 


TO  HARRIET  HOSMER. 

Black  upon  white — my  art  no  higher  goes, 
No  better  skill  my  pen  prosaic  knows. 
You  need  not  stain  the  virgin  page,  who  write 
So  fine  a  hand  in  lines  of  purest  white. 

G.   S.   HiLLAED. 

Boston,  September,  1864. 

Zenobia  *  was  first  shown  in  New  York  at  a  private 
reception,  where  were  met,  to  do  honor  to  the  young 
artist,  such  men  and  women  as  Bancroft,  Tuckerman, 
Bryant,  Church,  Grey,  Kensett,  Bierstadt,  Gifford, 
Eastman  Johnson,  Drs.  Bellows,  Beecher,  Osgood, 
and  Huntington;  Mrs.  Stowe,  Miss  Catherine  Sedg- 
wick, Madame  Botta  and  many  others  distinguished 
in  art  and  letters. 

This  statue  was  bought  by  Mr.  Almon  Griswold  of 
New  York;  another  copy  by  Mrs.  Potter  Palmer  of 
Chicago,  another  by  Mr.  Robert  W.  Emmons  of  Bos- 
ton, and  by  him  presented  to  the  St.  Louis  Museum 
of  Fine  Arts,  recently  built  and  donated  to  the  city 
by  Wayman  Crow.  One  copy  is  in  the  Metropolitan 
Art  Museum  of  New  York,  and  others  are  owned 
both   in    America   and   in   England. 

*  Zenobia  was  later  exhibited  in  Chicago. 


200  HARRIET  HOSMER 

An  enthusiastic   admirer   wrote   these   lines,   which 
well  describe  the  statue.* 

ZENOBIA,  QUEEN  OF  PALMYRA. 

The  passive  hands 
Held  loosely  by  their  golden  weight  of  chain, — 
The  heavy  folds  of  mantle  and  of  robe 
Partaking  of  her  majesty, — the  mien 
So  full  of  royal  dignity  and  grace, — 
Thus,  with  a  cloud  upon  the  perfect  face, 
A  shadowy  sorrow  veiling  all  its  fire, 
A  world  of  passion  sleeping  on  the  lips 
And  longing  eyes  that  spoke  the  heart  within, — 
Zenobia  walked  through  Rome. 

She  does  not  see 
The  changing  looks  of  pity  or  of  hate 
That  fall  on  her  from  unfamiliar  eyes; 
Nor  hear  the  rumble  of  the  chariot  wheels 
That  bear  the  haughty  conqueror.     Away 
Beyond  the  yellow  Tiber  and  the  flow 
Of  the  blue  sea  that  laps  the  Syrian  strand. 
Beyond  the  reach  of  desert  and  of  plain 
She  stands  beside  the  temples  of  her  gods 
In  fair  Palmyra.     Round  her  in  the  air 
The  swaying  palm  trees  nod  their  tufted  plumes. 
And  Eastern  blossoms,  drunk  with  eastern  bloom, 
Fling  perfume  from  their  honeyed  chalices. 

She  hears  within  her  palace  walls  once  more 

Her  children's  voices,  playing  in  the  shade 

That  filters  through  the  garden  walks.     Or  proud 

With  all  the  blazoned  pageantry  of  war. 

She  leads  again  from  out  the  city  gates 

The  shining  legions  of  her  dauntless  hosts, 

And  hears,  like  incense  rising  from  their  lips. 

The  shout  of  praise  that  lifts  her  name  to  Heaven. 

♦  Attributed  to  Miss  Ticknor. 


ZENOBIA 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  201 

Her  heart  is  with  Palmyra  as  it  stood 
In  bygone  days,  her  glory  and  her  pride; 
Nor  in  her  silent  musing  does  she  dream 
Of  that  dark  hour  when  captive  and  alone 
She  saw  the  royal  purple  of  her  robe 
Grow  dim  forever  with  the  stain  of  blood, 
And  dust  of  desolation! 


O  pale  mute  marble!  most  serenely  still, 
Yet  eloquent  with  more  than  voiceful  thought, 
Thus  stand  forever,  holding  through  all  time 
The  passing  record  of  a  passing  hour: 
And,  with  the  seal  of  silence  on  thy  lips. 
Yet  speak  the  lessons  of  a  vanished  past! 

Two  letters,  though  of  later  date,  may  well  be 
given  here: 

MISS  TICKNOR  *  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Boston,  Feb.  27,  1865. 

All  the  weeks  of  that  Queen's  reign  were  great  and 
good,  like  the  first,  and  of  the  last  week  of  her 
sovereign  rule  over  New  England,  I  wish  to  talk  to 
you  about  her  again,  my  dear  Hatt5^ 

As  I  have  seen  so  few  of  your  correspondents,  I 
do  not  know  how  much  they  may  have  told  you,  of 
that  which  I  am  likely  to  say,  but  no  matter.  The 
number  of  people  who  have  gone  to  see  Zenobia  is 
enormous.  The  janitor  tells  me  that  on  Saturday 
night  (this  is  Monday)  it  had  reached  17,385.  No 
single  work  of  art  ever  attracted  so  much  attention 
here,  and  the  sum  total  of  praise  and  admiration  has 
been  so  immensely  prevailing,  that  criticism  has  had  a 
hard  struggle  even  to  get  in  a  word.  I  think  you  may 
feel  assured  that  your  greatest  work  has  been  warmly 

*  The  daughter  of  George  Ticknor. 


202  HARRIET  HOSMER 

and  heartily  appreciated,  that  it  has  made  a  strong 
impression  on  the  New  England  mind.  Your  agent 
has  served  you  well,  and  has  spared  no  pains  in  giving 
Zenobia  the  best  opportunity  to  have  her  beauty  and 
power  truly  estimated.  He  has  received  your  decision 
not  to  have  the  statue  exhibited  anywhere  else,  and 
is  much  satisfied  that  no  further  risk  is  to  be  incurred 
about  it.  He  says  the  success  here  has  enhanced,  to 
Mr.  Griswold,  the  value  of  his  possession  very  greatly, 
and  that  he  too,  will  be  much  relieved  at  not  having  it 
further  exposed. 

It  has  been  delightful  to  go  into  Zenobia's  throne 
room,  day  after  day,  and  see  it  always  filled  with 
people  who  looked  upon  her  thoughtfully  and  with 
evident  admiration.  Almost  every  time  I  have  gone 
in,  there  have  been  from  twenty  to  forty  persons 
there,  and  I  constantly  find  acquaintances  such  as 
you  would  be  glad  to  have  about  her.  I  enclose 
some  more  clippings  like  those  I  sent  two  weeks  ago. 
A  mem.  just  sent  to  me  says  that  of  the  17,385 
attendants,  two-thirds  were  paying  visitors,  and  that 
the  total  number  in  New  York  was  6,328.  The 
article  from  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly  "  *  was  used  the 
first  two  weeks  as  a  circular,  to  put  in  the  hands  of 
visitors.  The  poetry,  I  hear,  was  written  by  a  young 
Irish  girl;  it  has  merit  enough  for  a  somewhat  higher 
origin,  and  is  therefore  the  more  interesting,  coming 
from  such  a  source. 

Now  I  shall  leave  the  pen  to  Mamma. 

Yours, 

Anna  E.  Ticknor. 

MRS.  GEORGE  TICKNOR  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

I  really  have  nothing  to  add,  dear  Harriet,  but 
ditto,  to  the  above,  except  that  my  own  enjoyment 

*  See  Appendix  B. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  203 

of  the  noble  work  has  been  continued  from  the  first 
night,  and  that  the  bit  of  poetry  which  Anna  sends 
you  anonymously  is  by  herself,  and  it  is  so  good  that 
i  cannot  let  her  modesty  prevail. 

Last  Saturday  we  went  to  see  the  Queen  by 
evening  light,  and  the  effect  was  so  startlingly  beau- 
tiful that  I  could  not  repress  a  very  audible  exclama- 
tion. We  had  left  Mr.  Ticknor  and  Mr.  Cogswell 
in  great  comfort  smoking  their  cigars,  but  our  report 
sent  them,  within  five  minutes,  to  see  if  we  were  right, 
and  they  came  back  full  of  admiration,  recompensed 
for  their  effort.  You  will  perceive  from  all  sources 
what  interest  has  been  excited,  how  much  admiration 
felt,  how  widely  your  name  and  fame  are  spread,  and 
I  think  you  will  be  content. 

Ellen  Robbins  *  and  her  lessons,  I  suppose  you 
know,  are  at  the  top  of  the  fashion.  All  the  lovely 
young  girls  and  many  wealthy  mammas  are  grouped 
at  her  talks,  and  she  is  doing  good,  not  only  in  de- 
veloping faculty  and  taste,  but  in  cultivating  a  per- 
ception of  simple  beauty.  I  wish  I  had  anything  to 
tell  you,  dear  child,  that  would  interest  you,  but  com- 
pared with  all  that  surrounds  you,  the  affairs  of  little 
Boston  are  very  tame. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  that  in  spite  of  fox-hunting, 
your  neck  is  safe  thus  far.  I  wish  I  were  where  you 
could  run  in  to  brighten  us  with  a  greeting;  since  it 
cannot  be,  I  hope  that  you  are  always  able  to  cheer 
those  near  you  and  to  be  cheered  by  them.  I  con- 
gratulate you  that  you  have  not  known  such  a  winter 
as  we  have  gone  through,  cold  and  snow  for  six  weeks, 
and  the  rest  of  the  time,  snow  and  cold.  Keep  a 
warm  place  in  your  heart  for  us  frozen  barbarians, 
and  send  us  a  word  when  you  have  a  chance. 
Always  affectionately  yours, 

Anna  Ticknor. 

*  The  well-known  painter  of  wild  flowers. 


204.  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Senate  Chamber,  Washington,  Nov.  31,  1864. 

3Iy  dear  : 

As  I  passed  through  New  York  on  my  way  to 
Washmgton,  I  made  it  a  point  to  see  the  Zenobia, 
and  I  enjoyed  the  opportmiity  much.  The  statue  tells 
its  story  most  successfully.  It  lives  and  moves  with 
the  solemn  grace  of  a  dethroned  Queen. 

Character  and  di'apery  are  both  given  with  con- 
smnmate  skill.  I  know  enough  of  the  sculptor's  art 
to  recognize  the  labor,  as  well  as  talent,  which  INIiss 
Hosmer  must  have  brought  to  this  masterpiece,  not 
only  in  its  original  conception,  but  in  the  details  of 
its  execution.  I  rejoice  in  such  a  work  by  an  Ameri- 
can artist,  as  in  a  new  poem. 

Believe  me. 

Very  faithfully  yours, 

Charles  Sumner. 

After  the  visit  home  Miss  Hosmer  writes: 

7^        Tij-     >-r  London,  Nov.,  1864. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

I  got  over  the  herring  pond  a  little  better  than 
usual,  had  a  very  good  and  passably  short  crossing, 
arrived  in  England  and  fell  into  the  arms  of  Lady 
Marian  Alford  who  conveyed  me  to  Ashridge.  You 
see  how  easily  I  am  seduced  from  the  path  of  virtue; 
but  isn't  life  too  short  to  be  always  doing  your  duty? 
I  saw  Mrs.  Kemble  for  just  five  minutes  in  London. 

I  found  my  credit  with  Stuart  all  right.  At  Mor- 
gan's I  was  reading  it  with  some  other  letters  and 
then  turned  it  over  to  JNIr.  Morgan.  "  What's 
this?"  said  he.  "Business  letter  for  your  perusal," 
said  I.  "  Nonsense,"  said  he,  "  what  is  the  use  of 
that  letter?  You  have  the  run  of  my  bank  for  any 
amount  you  like,  in  any  way  you  like."  "  Nothing 
like  credit,"  said  I,  "  it's  as  good  as  gold." 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  205 

I  dine  with  them  to-morrow.  Mrs.  Morgan  is 
going  to  Rome  this  winter.  Friday  I  go  to  Ashridge 
again  for  a  couple  of  days.  It  is  really  difficult  to 
know  what  to  do  with  so  many  good  friends,  who  in 
the  goodness  of  their  hearts  would  keep  me,  I  am  sure, 
till — they  get  tired  of  me! 

Yours,  H. 

Miss  Hosmer  had  been  instrumental  in  getting  up 
a  hunting  club  in  Rome,  and  in  importing  a  pack  of 
hounds  from  England.  For  many  years  she  was 
one  of  its  most  generous  and  enthusiastic  members. 
In  the  following  letters  mention  occurs  of  the  hunt- 
ing; 

^        ^r     r^  RoME^  Dec.  30,  1864. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

I  can  only  now  say  that  I  have  got  fairly  to  work 
and  have  got  my  clay  harness  on  again.  The  winter 
will  be  scarcely  worth  having  unless  I  eke  it  out  with 
a  good  bit  of  the  summer.  I  find  my  studio  progress- 
ing. Every  day  I  go  and  prowl  about  the  domain, 
and  feel  myself  quite  a  Roman  proprietor  and  have 
the  greatest  satisfaction  in  looking  upon  the  spot 
where  everything  is  to  be,  and  where  nothing  is,  as 
Mrs.  Kemble  said  of  Washington.  When  it  is  done, 
I  may  say  without  exaggeration  there  will  be  no 
studio  in  Rome  which  can  hold  a  candle  to  it.  My 
Faun  is  going  on  rapidly  and  the  marble  is  excellent. 

We  went  yesterday  to  see  the  grand  bronze-gilt 
statue  lately  discovered,  and  it  is  really  sublime. 
Much  as  I  had  heard  of  it,  I  had  no  conception  of  its 
great  beauty.  Then  we  saw  the  hole,  forty  feet  deep, 
in  which  it  has  lain  hidden  for  eighteen  hundred 
years.  Is  it  not  wonderful  that  at  last,  by  the  merest 
chance,  it  has  been  permitted  to  see  the  light?  It  is, 
as  perhaps  you  know,  a  colossal  statue  of  the  young 


206  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Hercules,  with  the  Lion's  skin  in  one  hand  and  some- 
thing, which  might  be  the  aj)ples  of  Hesperides,  in 
the  other.  But  whatever  it  was^  it  is  the  grandest 
thing!  It  is  to  be  placed  in  the  circular  court  of  the 
Vatican,  which  is  to  be  covered  over  with  glass,  and 
will  be  one  of  the  gems  of  the  place. 

On  Monday  I  make  my  first  appearance  this  sea- 
son in  the  hunting  field,  so  any  time  you  may  expect 
to  hear  of  cracked  bones  and  gelatinous  flesh. 

Yours,  H. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  Rome,  Jan.,  1865. 

We  had  a  very  good  run  on  Monday,  in  process 
of  which,  no  less  than  fourteen  individuals  upset. 
There  has  been  rather  a  chapter  of  accidents,  there 
being  about  two  dislocated  shoulders,  one  broken  arm, 
a  broken  wrist,  and  a  cracked  leg,  besides  bruises 
and  sprains  too  numerous  to  mention.  Such  is 
life!  .  .  .  We  all  turned  a  somerset  when  we  heard 
of  the  successful  issue  of  Sherman's  march.  .  .  . 

Later. 

Croesus  has  smiled  on  me  this  year.  I  have  noth- 
ing to  complain  of  in  the  way  of  work,  and  only 
wish  I  had  more  marbles  to  show  in  my  studio.  The 
season  is  now  drawing  to  a  close,  and  forestieri  are 
thinking  of  rushing  away. 

We  had  three  very  gay  days  on  the  occasion  of  the 
Pope's  festa;  grand  illuminations  and  fireworks  and 
all  sorts  of  Meg's  diversions.  But  the  festa  at  which 
I  should  most  have  liked  to  see  you  was  one  of  my 
own  getting  up.  I  am  sorely  tempted  to  send  you 
a  programme.  It  was  a  frisk  called  "  Mrs.  Dent's 
Bonnet."  Mrs.  Dent  being  the  huntsman's  wife,  and 
this  was  her  Benefit.  The  performance  consisted  of 
riding  at  loose  rails  and  paying  five  francs  penalty  for 
every  one  thrown  down.    We  had  great  fun,  plenty  of 


MRS.    DENT'S  BONNET 

(TWO   FEET    HKJH) 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  207 

riders,  and  a  most  aristocratic  audience.  All  the 
royalties  in  Rome  were  present,  the  day  was  heavenly, 
a  real  summer's  day,  and  everything  went  off  so  well 
that  the  general  vote  is  to  have  it  repeated  next  year. 
Then  there  was  jumping  for  the  grand  prize,  and  the 
grand  prize  was  the  Bonnet^  the  winner  "  to  enjoy 
the  happy  privilege  of  passing  it  round  for  the  bene- 
fit of  Mrs.  Dent."  I  will  enclose  a  photograph  of  the 
artistic  Bonnet.  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  that 
the  "  brush,"  as  a  feather,  was  a  stroke  of  genius.  I 
felt  rather  proud  of  the  grand  success  of  the  whole 
affair,  for  it  was  looked  upon  as  my  particular  festa, 
certainly  it  was  my  own  invention.  The  receipts 
from  contributions  and  penalties  amount  to  .£45.  Not 
bad  for  a  frisk.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

_,        T,,     -^  Rome,  May  5,  1865. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  >        j     ^ 

I  received  your  kindest  of  letters  yesterday,  in 
which  you  tell  me  to  my  sincere  joy  how  much  you 
like  Zenobia.  I  can't  say  how  greatly  I  am  pleased 
that  you  found  her  worthy.  It  is  a  real  delight  and 
makes  me  proud.  I  won't  say  next,  but  alongside  of 
my  master,  I  work  to  please  you,  and  it  is  true  en- 
couragement when  you  express  yourself  so  warmly 
upon  the  result  of  my  labors.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

At  its  exhibition  in  Chicago,  both  Zenobia  and  the 
artist  received  hearty  recognition.* 

This  year  of  1865  was  a  very  full  one  in  many  ways 
for  the  artist.  The  Sleeping  Faun  was  shown  in  the 
Dublin  Exhibition.  Her  new  studio  was  being  built, 
her  own  apartment  in  the  Palazzetto  Barberini  was 

*  See  Appendix  C. 


208  HARRIET  HOSMER 

being  prepared  for  her  future  home,  and  her  stable 
was  being  arranged. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Rome,  May  16,  1865. 

Hurrah,  hurrah!  dear  Pater,  you  are  really  com- 
ing! It  seems  one  of  the  impossibilities  of  chance, 
and  I  can't  yet  quite  believe  it.  I  fear  I  cannot  get 
away  early,  not  only  on  account  of  my  work,  but 
because  I  must  stay  until  my  studio  has  got  as  far 
as  the  pavement,  the  plastering,  and  the  paint,  else  I 
can't  be  in  it  next  winter.  I  have  just  seen  a  notice  of 
the  Dublin  Exhibition,  which  says,  "  Mr.  Story's  Saul, 
Miss  Hosmer's  Sleeping  Faun,  and  a  colossal  statue 
of  Pio  Nono  are  first  among  the  exhibits.  ..." 

I  have  also  a  letter  from  Mr.  Doyle,  Superintend- 
ent of  the  Fine  Art  Department,  saying,  "  I  hear  a 
strong  and  general  desire  expressed  that  your  beauti- 
ful work  may  become  a  permanent  possession  of  the 
city  of  Dublin." 

I  suspect  from  this  that  Mr.  Guinness  is  going  to 
present  it  as  a  public  gift  to  be  placed  in  the  Ex- 
hibition .Building,  which  it  is  said,  will  remain  as  a 
sort  of  Crystal  Palace,  when  the  present  exhibition 
closes.  Mr.  Doyle  ends  by  thanking  me,  in  the 
name  of  the  committee,  for  having  sent  "  one  of  the 
chief  attractions  of  the  exhibition.  .  .  ." 

Yours,  H. 

-r^        -_      ^  June,  1865. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

An  extract  from  a  Dublin  paper  says,  "  There  has 
never  been  in  this  city  before,  so  magnificent  a  collec- 
tion of  modern  marbles,  and  it  is  satisfactory  that  the 
artists  residing  in  Rome  and  elsewhere,  who  have 
been  enterprising  enough  to  send  their  works,  have  a 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  209 

fair  prospect  of  disposing  of  some  of  them.  It  is  not 
surprising  that  Sir  Benjamin  Guinness  should  be 
anxious  to  secure  Miss  Hosmer's  Sleeping  Faun,  for 
it  is  really  a  unique  work.  It  is  universally  admired, 
and  is  more  frequently  the  subject  of  conversation 
than  any  statue  in  the  exhibition." 

I  declare  my  children  are  getting  to  be  as  numerous 
as  Brigham  Young's  wives.  I  only  hope  they  get 
along  as  swimmingly  as  my  babies.  Of  course  I  can 
say  all  this  to  you,  without  its  seeming  too  monstrously 
conceited,  for  when  I  sit  down  to  have  a  chat  with 
you  I  tell  you  all  I  know.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

At  the  private  view,  before  the  opening  of  the 
Dublin  Exhibition,  Sir  Benjamin  Guinness  was  so 
carried  away  with  the  charm  of  this  group  that  he 
offered  one  thousand  guineas  for  it.  Upon  being 
told  that  it  was  not  for  sale  (for  the  artist  had  in- 
tended to  send  it  to  America  for  exhibition)  Sir 
Benjamin  offered  to  double  the  price,  saying  that 
"  if  money  could  buy  that  statue  he  intended  to  have 
it,"  and  he  forthwith  placed  the  added  amount  to 
the  artist's  name.  When  Miss  Hosmer  heard  of  this, 
she  returned  the  second  sum  to  Sir  Benjamin,  saying 
that  she  should  not  take  advantage  of  his  liberality, 
while  greatly  appreciating  it,  but  was  pleased  to  have 
her  work  in  the  possession  of  one  who  valued  it. 

There  were  replicas  of  this  group  made,  for  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  Miss  Cushman,  Lady  Ashburton, 
Mr.  Shortall  of  Chicago,  and  others.  A  copy  also  is 
owned  by  the  Boston  Museum  of  Fine  Arts. 

Of  the  Sleeping  Faun,  Sir  Charles  Eastlake 
said,  "If  it  had  been  discovered  among  the  ruins  of 


210  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Rome  or  Pompeii  it  would  have  been  pronounced  one 
of  the  best  of  Grecian  statues,"  and  John  Gibson  said, 
"It  is  worthy  to  be  an  Antique." 

The  London  '^  Times  "  says : — 

"  In  the  groups  of  statues  are  many  works  of  ex- 
quisite beauty,  but  there  is  one  which  at  once  arrests 
attention  and  elicits  admiration.  It  is  The  Sleeping 
Faun  and  Satyr,  by  Miss  Hosmer.  It  is  a  curious 
fact  that  amid  all  the  statues  in  this  court,  contrib- 
uted by  the  natives  of  lands  in  which  the  fine  arts 
were  naturalized  thousands  of  years  ago,  one  of  the 
finest  should  be  the  production  of  an  American  artist. 
But  she  has  received  her  inspiration  under  the  Italian 
skies,  in  presence  of  the  great  models  of  ancient 
Greece  and  Rome.  Hawthorne's  description,  in  his 
'  Transformation,'  of  the  Faun  of  Praxiteles  has  been 
quoted  in  a  great  measure  as  applicable  to  this  master- 
piece of  Miss  Hosmer." 

The  "  Galignani "  of  approximate  date  says : — 

"  The  gem  of  the  classic  school,  in  its  nobler  style  of 
composition,  is  due  to  an  American  artist,  Harriet 
Hosmer,  the  only  pupil  of  Gibson,  whose  influence 
may  be  traced  in  her  work.  The  attitude  of  the 
Sleeping  Faun  is  graceful  and  natural.  He  is  seated 
leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  partly  draped 
in  a  tiger's  skin.  The  small  satyr  so  happily  intro- 
duced into  the  group,  crouched  behind  the  tree  with 
mischievous  archness,  binding  the  Faun  to  it  with  the 
end  of  the  furry  drapery,  gives  not  only  symmetry  to 
the  composition,  but  the  life  which  is  so  seldom  found 
in  reminiscences  of  antiquity.  Miss  Hosmer  in  her 
Sleeping  Faun  reaches  the  highest  excellence." 


K\  ..  '•r^an  '-J*:4.^J3t.-^-^.=J3a<iuJll 


THE    SLEliPlXG    FAUN 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  211 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Dear  Mr,  Crow:  ^^^^^  ^^^  26,   1865. 

Just  at  this  time  I  am  having  studio,  house,  and 
stable  to  look  after,  providing  myself  with  all  three 
at  once,  trying  to  get  them  in  order,  and  to  look 
after  a  dozen  workmen  besides.  Oh,  but  you  should 
see  my  studio,  in  order  to  see  what  things  in  the  way 
of  studios  are  capable  of  being  made.  I  am  going  to 
have  a  copy  of  Lady  Marian's  fountain  put  up,  com- 
plete, in  the  entrance  room,  not  only  complete,  but 
playing,  and  I  am  going  to  have  birds  and  flowers 
and  every  object  of  beauty,  myself  included,  scat- 
tered about  among  the  statues.  In  fact,  I  have  no 
doubt  people  will  come  to  see  the  appurtenances  in- 
stead of  the  fine  arts! 

Then  I  am  in  the  midst  of  domestic  transmigra- 
tions. My  apartment,  modest  but  elegant,  like  the 
proprietor,  will  be  all  that  housewives  and  padrones 
could  desire.  All  in  order  Avill  it  be,  and  always  open, 
when  you  and  yours  pull  the  latch  string.  I  shall  be 
glad  to  have  it  in  my  power  to  be  a  little  civil  to  old 
friends  who  come  to  Rome,  for  now  my  attentions  to 
them  are  limited  to  intellectual  banquets  in  the  studio. 
A  hard  twist  it  will  be,  though,  to  leave  38  Gregoriana, 
where  I  have  been  so  happy  for  five  years  with  dear 
INIiss  Cushman.  Yours    H 

Later. 
I  have  been  in  a  state  of  domestic  confusion  (con- 
fusion did  I  say?  a  whirlwind)  all  this  week,  inasmuch 
as  I  liave  been  moving  from  38  Via  Gregoriana  into 
my  own  apartment  in  the  Palazzetto  Barberini.  You 
know  it  is  an  operation  which  does  not  always  illus- 
trate the  first  law  of  nature,  order. 

H. 


212  HARRIET  HOSMER 

MRS.  KEMBLE  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Warnford,  Sunday,  June  4,  (1865). 
My  dear  Hatty: 

I  do  not  reason  with  my  friends;  what  they  give 
me  I  account  free  grace,  and  though  I  am  always 
most  dehghted  to  hear  from  you,  I  do  not  feel  that 
I  have  any  right  upon  your  time  and  attention,  which 
can  be  both  more  pleasantly  and  profitably  occupied 
than  in  writing  to  me.  The  old  Boston  times,  dear 
Hatty,  mean  very  pleasant  ones  to  me,  and  are 
among  those  I  should  wish  to  recall,  if  I  wished  to 
recall  any.  Our  delightful  Roman  days  are  being 
revived  in  our  memory  just  now  by  the  presence  of 
Lord  Lyons,  who  is  on  a  visit  to  my  sister,  and  whose 
voice  and  manner,  unchanged  in  their  pleasant 
peculiarity,  take  me  back  to  the  "  good  times,"  what 
good  times  they  were  that  we  had  on  the  Campagna! 

Others  of  our  then  companions  will  soon  be  among 
us,  for  our  friends  the  Bertie  M's  are  expected  in 
England  some  time  this  month,  and  your  beautiful 
model.  Lady  Adelaide  Talbot,  is  coming  this  summer 
to  pay  my  sister  a  visit,  so  you  are  likely  enough  to 
have  your  name  taken,  but  not  in  vain,  among  us 
all. 

Yes,  dearest  Hatty,  our  admirable  friend  Elizabeth 
Sedgwick  would  have  rejoiced  with  her  whole  soul 
over  the  triumph  of  the  righteous  cause  for  which 
her  son  gave  his  young  life.*  I  have  had  rather  a 
difficult  task  in  sympathizing  with  my  daughter 
Fanny's  grief  at  the  overthrow  of  the  Southern  Con- 
federacy, while  joining  with  every  thought  and  feel- 
ing of  m}'^  own  in  the  victory  of  the  North.  Surely 
there  never  was  a  more  signal  overthrow  of  the  Devil 
and  all  his  works,  in  the  world's  history  since  it  began, 

•Major  William  Dwight  Sedgwick,  who  fell  in  the  Civil  War. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  213 

nor  one  for  which  good  men  and  angels  are  more 
bound  to  praise  and  bless  God. 

Good-by,  my  dear  Hatty,  the  affection  I  bear  you 
for  your  own  sake  is  strengthened  by  all  the  close  and 
sacred  associations  of  my  New  England  days.  I  am 
sorry  you  are  not  to  cross  the  Channel,  when  you 
come  so  near  to  it  as  Paris.  God  bless  you,  dear, 
always  as  always. 

Your  sincere  old  friend, 

Fanny  Kemble. 


TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

RoME^  July,  1865. 
Welcome  to  Europe,  dear  Pater! 

I  speak  as  if  I  were  Alexander,  the  master  of  the 
world,  and  wished  to  extend  to  you  the  hospitality  of 
the  Hemisphere,  and  so  I  do.  I  have  followed  you 
from  the  day  you  embarked  till  now,  have  fancied 
myself  sky-blue,  pea-green,  indigo,  and  every  other 
color  of  the  rainbow,  to  be  in  sympathy  with  you. 
Well,  I  hope  you  have  had  a  good  passage,  though  I 
doubt  if  such  a  thing  exists;  bad  is  the  best.  As  you 
are  disembarking  at  Queenstown,  you  will  get  a  sight 
of  the  Dublin  Exhibition  and  see  my  representative,* 
for  which  I  am  glad.  Any  advice  or  instructions 
relative  to  the  best  way  of  journeying  to  Rome,  and 
above  all  the  surest  means  of  staying  a  long  time  after 
you  get  there,  will  be  jubilantly  forwarded  by  yours, 

H.  G.  H. 

In  July  Miss  Hosmer  joined  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crow 
in  France,  and  later  made  a  trip  with  them  through 
Switzerland,  returning  to  Rome  in  October. 

♦  The  Sleeping  Faun. 


n4s  HARRIET  HOSMER 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 

jy        p^  Versailles^  Aug.  23,  1865. 

For  something  like  six  weeks  before  leaving  Rome, 
I  just  had  time  to  die  several  times,  and  that  was  all. 
Between  my  new  Studio  and  my  new  Apartment  I 
thought  there  wouldn't  be  much  of  me  left  to  inhabit 
either,  and  if  I  had  had  an  offer  of  marriage  made 
me  I  shouldn't  have  found  time  to  respond.  .  .  . 

Your  H. 

A  little  episode  in  connection  with  the  building  of 
the  new  studio  may  be  mentioned  for  its  ingenuity. 
It  seems  that  the  occupant  of  a  neighboring  house 
objected  to  a  proposed  side-wall,  which  was  neces- 
sary for  the  carrying  out  of  Miss  Hosmer's  plan. 
She  learned  that  a  law  existed  which  forbade  the 
demolition  of  a  wall  already  built;  accordingly  she 
assembled  a  number  of  workmen  and  under  the  cover 
of  night  caused  the  wall  to  be  erected.  When  morn- 
ing dawned  there  stood  the  solid  masonry,  so  there 
was  nothing  more  to  be  said  or  done. 

While  in  Paris  during  this  summer  (1865)  Miss 
Hosmer  received  the  commission  from  a  literary  man 
of  London  to  put  into  marble  Hood's  touching  poem, 
"  The  Bridge  of  Sighs."  That  she  might  see  for  her- 
self the  peculiar  effect  of  such  a  death  upon  a 
drowning  girl,  she  visited  the  morgue  several  times, 
accompanied  by  Mr.  Crow,  until  she  found  the  de- 
sired subject,  thus  studying  from  death  as  well  as 
from  life. 

It  was  of  the  return  journey  to  Rome  that  Miss 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  215 

Hosmer  told  this  anecdote  apropos  of  one  trait  of 
the  Italian  people.  She  had  bought,  in  Switzerland, 
a  small  quantity  of  honey.  It  was  in  a  little  hive 
of  straw,  in  which  it  had  been  made.  She  succeeded 
in  getting  back  to  Rome  with  it,  but  there  it  was 
seized  by  the  custom  officers.  They  had  never  seen 
honey  like  that  before.  It  was  at  that  time  sold  by 
the  apothecary  strained,  and  used  as  a  medicinal 
remedy. 

"  Signora,  what  is  this?"  one  of  the  officers  asked. 

She  told  him,  "  Honey." 

"  But  there  is  wax  in  it." 

"  That  is  its  natural  state,"  he  was  informed. 

"  It  is  sticky,"  he  objected. 

"  That  is  also  a  feature  of  honey  in  its  natural 
state." 

"  It  is  solid,"  he  added. 

"  That  too,"   she  explained. 

He  was  not  entirely  satisfied,  and  summoned  a 
higher  official,  the  director.  He  came,  several  men 
following,  until  there  were  about  a  dozen  in  the 
room,  all  gravely  inspecting  the  honey,  which  had 
been  placed  on  the  table.  The  director  was  a  grave 
man  and  wore  spectacles.  He  looked  at  it  carefully 
and  then  he  delivered  an  oration,  the  purport  of  which 
was,  that  he  had  read  in  a  book  that  honey  in  a 
natural  state  did  contain  a  certain  amount  of  sper- 
maceti, and  that  a  small  animal  called  a  bee  manu- 
factured the  article. 

"  It  seems,"  he  concluded,  "  that  we  are  now  be- 
liolding  a  specimen  of  honey  in  its  natural  state. 
Let  the  Signorina  go  in  peace." 


216  HARRIET  HOSMER 

It  was  spoken  in  Italian,  which  seemed  peculiarly 
to  suit  the  words. 

"  That  was  the  grand  oration,"  she  said,  "  and  it 
shows  their  wonderful  simplicity,  a  simplicity  that 
would  be  impossible  with  the  French." 

The  opening  of  the  year  1866  brought  keen  sorrow 
to  the  artist  in  the  death  of  her  revered  master  and 
friend,  John  Gibson,  which  occurred  on  the  27th  of 
January.  He  was  buried  in  the  little  English  Ceme- 
tery at  Rome.     She  writes  to  Lady  Eastlake: 

"  Very  early  on  the  morning  of  Mr.  Gibson's  death 
Miss  Lloyd  and  I  were  summoned  hastily  to  his  room 
— she  remained  with  him  till  the  last,  but  I  left  a  kiss 
on  his  forehead  and  came  away.  Oh!  how  cold  and 
drear  the  stars  looked  that  morning  as  I  walked 
slowly  home!  I  saw  the  beloved  master  a  moment, 
after  death.  Grand  and  calm  and  beautiful  his  face 
was!  Then  I  left  Rome  for  a  time.  One  of  my  best 
friends  was  taken  from  me  when  the  master  died." 

Later  this  account  of  Mr.  Gibson  and  his  pupil 
was  given  by  his  biographer,  Lady  Eastlake :  * 

The  only  pupil  Gibson  ever  professed  to  teach,  and 
in  whom  he  may  justly  be  said  to  have  raised  a  living 
monument  to  himself,  was  Harriet  Hosmer,  whose 
name  is  widely  known  on  two  continents.  It  is  in- 
teresting to  have  her  account  of  their  first  meeting. 
She  said :  "  The  first  morning  I  entered  Mr.  Gib- 
son's studio  (as  a  pupil)  he  was  working  upon  the 
knee  of  his  Wounded  Amazon — finishing  it  in  marble. 

♦  The  Life  of  John  Gibson,  edited  by  Lady  Eastlake,  p.  228. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  217 

He  laid  down  his  chisel  (how  well  I  can  see  him 
now!)  and  received  me  most  kindly — showed  me  all 
the  statues  in  his  studio,  and  then  said,  '  Now  I  will 
show  you  the  room  where  you  are  to  work,  a  little 
room,  but  as  big  as  you  are  yourself.'  He  always 
poked  fun  at  me  about  my  size.  He  impressed  me 
as  being  very  kind,  but  his  peculiar,  curt  manner 
rather  filled  me  with  awe.  I  did  not  at  first  dis- 
cover that  he  dearly  loved  a  little  nonsense,  and  I 
was  extremely  demure  and  solemn  with  him,  but  that 
solemnity  did  not  last  long,  and  I  never  talked  more 
nonsense  with  any  one  than  with  the  grave,  staid 
master.  Apropos  of  the  knee  of  the  Amazon,  I  al- 
ways told  him  I  was  more  fond  of  that  statue  than 
of  any  other,  from  its  being  connected  with  my  first 
impression  of  him.  He  said  I  '  always  looked  senti- 
mental '  when  I  saw  it. 

"  As  to  his  mode  of  teaching  me,  he  said  he  could 
best  apply  rules  as  he  worked,  and  often  he  made 
me  sit  by  him,  by  the  hour  together,  as  he  modelled. 
He  was  very  funny  sometimes  in  his  criticisms.  I 
remember  once  asking  him  to  come  and  see  the 
sketch  of  Zenobia  which  I  was  preparing.  He  looked 
at  it  for  some  time  in  silence,  and  I  began  to  flatter 
myself  that  I  should  have  some  praise,  but  the  only 
remark  he  deigned  to  make  was,  '  Yes,  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  equilibrium,  yes.' 

"  '  But,'  said  I,  '  this  is  only  to  see  how  the  drapery 
comes  in.' 

"  '  Under  all  circumstances,'  said  he,  '  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  equilibrium — yes — I  will  leave  you  to  your 
troubles — yes.'  " 

Hawthorne  has  well  described  Mr.  Gibson,  in  his 
Marble  Faun. 

"  One  sculptor  there  was,  an  Englishman,  endowed 
with  a  beautiful  fancy,  and  possesshig  at  his  fingers' 


218  HARRIET  HOSMER 

ends  the  capability  of  doing  beautiful  things.  He 
was  a  quiet,  simple,  elderly  personage,  with  eyes 
brown  and  bright,  under  a  slightly  impending  brow, 
and  a  Grecian  profile,  such  as  he  might  have  cut 
with  his  own  chisel.  He  had  spent  his  life,  for  forty 
years,  in  making  Venuses,  Cupids,  Bacchuses,  and  a 
vast  deal  of  other  marble  progeny  of  dreamwork,  or 
rather  frost-work;  it  was  all  a  vapory  exhalation 
out  of  the  Grecian  mythology,  crystallizing  on  the 
dull  window-panes  of  to-day.  Gifted  with  a  more 
delicate  power  than  any  other  man  alive,  he  had 
foregone  to  be  a  Christian  reality,  and  perverted 
himself  into  a  Pagan  idealist.  .  .  .  Loving  and  rev- 
erencing the  pure  material  in  which  he  wrought,  as 
surely  this  admirable  sculptor  did,  he  had  nevertheless 
robbed  the  marble  of  its  chastity,  by  giving  it  an 
artificial  warmth  of  hue.  .  .  .  But,  whatever  criticism 
may  be  ventured  on  his  style  it  was  good  to  meet  a 
man  so  modest  and  yet  imbued  with  such  thorough 
and  simple  conviction  of  his  own  right  principles  and 
practice,  and  so  quietly  satisfied  that  his  kind  of 
antique  achievement  was  all  that  sculpture  could 
effect  for  modern  life." 

In  the  winter  of  1865-66  Miss  Hosmer  had  her 
friend  Mr.  Crow,  with  his  family,  near  her  in  Rome, 
at  the  Hotel  Europa.  In  the  spring  they  journeyed 
northward  and  again  she  writes: 

^        ^'^  Rome,  April  19,  1866. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

Your  welcome  letter  despatched  from  Florence  just 
comes  to  me.  So  you  have  seen  again  the  Ghiberti 
doors!  Do  you  know,  that  work  occupied  the  artist 
twenty-five  years?  'Twas  lucky  he  didn't  work  for 
Yankees ! 

The  day  after  you  left  here,  I  had  a  visit  from  Mr. 


JOHN    CilBSON 
By  HARRIET   HOSMER 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  219 

C,  president  of  the  Pacific  Bank  in  New  York,  who 
wanted  a  Puck  and  a  companion  to  it.  I  suggested 
one  of  the  figures  from  the  Fountain,  for  want  of  a 
better,  though  it  is  scarcely  a  pendant.  He  didn't 
seem  to  think  it  would  do,  and  there  he  was  right. 
So,  said  I,  give  me  a  little  time  and  I  will  model 
something  expressly  for  j^ou,  which  was  done.  So 
that  has  got  to  be  squeezed  in.  It  never  rains  but  it 
pours,  and  I  have  had  six  applications  for  portrait 
busts  since  you  were  here. 

I  am  rejoiced  that  you  have  enjoyed  your  wander- 
ings so  much.  I  believe  if  the  truth  were  known,  the 
children  of  Israel  enjoyed  their  wanderings  too,  only, 
having  said  they  didn't,  history  must  stick  to  it. 

I  enclose  you  a  photograph  of  my  Gate  for  the 
Academy  of  Design,  and  will  describe  it  to  you.  The 
two  central  figures  are,  as  you  perceive,  figures  of  two 
young  artists,  one  a  Painter,  the  other  a  Sculptor. 
One  with  the  world  in  his  hand,  the  other  with  a 
book,  to  signify  that  artists  should  be  students  not 
only  of  human  nature,  but  of  letters.  They  are  sur- 
rounded by  the  Muses,  placed,  as  you  see,  in  the 
niches  between  the  columns.  Then  the  four  bas- 
reliefs  represent  the  four  visions  of  art,  appropriate 
to  the  four  ages  of  man:  1st,  the  vision  of  Youth; 
2d,  the  vision  of  Love;  3d,  the  vision  of  Strength; 
and  4th,  the  vision  of  Age.  The  first  Muse  belongs 
to  the  first  bas-relief  more  properly,  being  Thalia, 
the  Muse  of  Comedy  and  JNIirth.  In  the  other  corner 
Erato,  the  INIuse  of  Love.  Below,  Melpomene,  the 
JNIuse  of  Tragedy,  and  on  the  other  corner,  Urania, 
the  Muse  of  heavenly  things.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

1866-1868 

This  spring  and  early  summer  were  given  to 
modelling  the  'pendant  to  the  group  of  The  Sleeping 
Faun.  It  was  The  Waking  Faun,  and  of  it  a  critic 
said: 

"  If  the  Sleeping  Faun  is  the  expression  of  com- 
plete repose,  the  Waking  Faun  is  that  of  life  and 
movement.  He  wakes  and  suddenly  seizes  the  little 
Satyr,  who  struggles  in  his  grasp.  He  is  imprisoned 
beyond  the  possibility  of  escape,  but  so  gently,  so 
tenderly  held  that  we  do  not  fear  for  his  safety.  In- 
deed, he  seems  quite  as  much  amused  in  his  new 
position  as  when  knotting  the  tiger's  skin.  This 
work  finely  exhibits  the  artist's  power  of  skilful 
grouping,  for  the  position  selected  is  one  of  the  most 
difficult  to  conceive,  while  its  grace  and  litheness  are 
perfect.  When  viewed  together  it  is  difficult  to  pro- 
nounce between  the  two  compositions." 

The  artist,  intent  upon  this  work,  took  but  a  short 
holiday  and  wrote: 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Palazzetto  Barberini,  Oct.  1866. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

I  have  had  my  five  weeks'  rest  and  am  at  work 
again.  The  marble  for  the  Waking  Faun  is  turning 
out  very  satisfactory,  which  is  a  mercy,  as  there  are 

320 


THE    WAKING    FAUN 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  221 

not  twenty-four  hours  to  spare,  for  getting  another 
piece.  A  very  near  squeak,  inasmuch  as  a  crack  came 
so  near  to  interfering  with  the  figure  itself,  that  my 
poor  blocker-out  didn't  sleep  for  a  week.  But  some- 
thing more  than  that  happened,  too,  for  a  row  of 
braziers  having  been  put  round  the  cavaletto  to  make 
the  plaster  dry  faster,  the  fire  (which  has  a  tendency 
to  burn  wood,  though  the  Italians  don't  seem  to  think 
so)  set  upon  one  of  the  legs  of  said  cavaletto — 
down  it  came,  down  came  my  statue  and  broke  into 
I  don't  know  how  many  pieces.  Fortunately  the 
pieces  are  all  there  and  it  is  put  together  so  ingeniously 
that  you  would  scarcely  perceive  the  cracks,  which 
ingenuitj^  though  doesn't  excuse  the  stupidity  of  the 
first  management.  However,  if  it  had  been  the  mar- 
ble one,  that  would  have  been  worse. 

Did  I  tell  you  that  I  am  going  to  make  a  Will-o'- 
the-Wisp  for  ^Ir.  Brewer?  I  must  go  immediately 
now  to  INIr.  S.'s  statue,  and  besides,  work  in  as 
many  bas-reliefs  for  the  door  as  I  can.  My  heavy 
work  will  be  a  group  of  Norma,  which  I  have  com- 
posed in  Leghorn,  diu'ing  my  holiday,  and  think 
I  shall  make  something  fine  out  of  it. 

Well  I  have  talked  enough  about  Ego.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

A  letter  written  from  Rome  to  the  Reverend 
Robert  Collyer  by  a  friend,  in  1867,  gives  this  at- 
tractive picture  of  Miss  Hosmer's  new  studio: 

"  It  is  the  prettiest  studio  in  Rome.  The  little 
entrance  court,  with  its  beautiful  flowers  and  singing 
birds,  is  a  deliglitful  change  from  the  hot,  dusty 
streets.  When  we  went  in,  it  being  the  artist's  re- 
ception day,  slic  was  showing,  to  some  strangers, 
the  fountain  in  the  center  of  the  first  room.  On  the 
shells,   whicli   form  the   capital   of  the  liigli   ])edestal, 


222  HARRIET  HOSMER 

in  the  middle  of  the  basin,  a  siren  sits  singing.  Be- 
low, three  charming  little  water-babies  are  bestriding 
dolphins.  They  are  fascinated  by  the  music,  and  one 
has  his  dimpled  hand  at  his  ear,  listening  intently, 
while  the  water  spouts  from  the  shells  above. 

JNIiss  Hosmer  has  a  very  vivacious  manner,  a  little 
abrupt,  and  very  decided.  When  she  speaks  with 
clear,  ringing  voice,  in  moments  when  you  have,  or 
she  has,  just  said  something  that  pleases  her,  her  ex- 
pression and  manner  are  exceedingly  charming,  and 
her  laugh,  which  came  often,  is  most  musical.  She 
wore  a  little  velvet  cap,  which  reminded  me  of 
Raphael. 

In  the  same  room  with  the  fountain  is  a  copy  of 
her  Puck;  this  little  sprite  sitting  on  an  enormous 
toadstool,  his  disorderly  curls  capped  by  a  shell, 
crushing  in  one  chubby  hand  a  beetle,  and  in  the 
other  a  lizard,  is  the  very  personification  of  beautiful 
babyhood.  She  has  a  mate  for  him  in  her  '  Will-o'- 
the  Wisp,'  or  at  least  a  comrade,  almost,  if  not  quite 
as  bewitching.  But  the  glory  of  her  studio  is  a  head 
of  Medusa.  I  have  always  thought  that  to  fulfil 
the  true  idea  of  the  old  myth.  Medusa  should  be 
wonderfully  beautiful,  but  I  never  saw  her  so  rep- 
resented before.  This  is  the  head  of  a  lovely  maiden, 
her  rich  hair  kept  back  by  a  fillet,  off  the  brow,  seems 
at  first  to  recede  in  waves  and  when  you  see  that  these 
waves  terminate  in  serpents,  it  strikes  you  with  no 
feeling  of  repulsion.  The  face,  whose  eyes  look  up- 
ward, is  full  of  sadness,  to  which  the  serpents  add 
mystery  and  gloom,  and  make  the  beauty  more  thrill- 
ing. The  folded  wings  above  the  hair  on  each  side 
of  the  face  give  an  air  of  majesty  to  the  head.  It 
was  hard  for  me  to  look  away  from  this  statue;  if 
long  gazing  could  have  turned  one  to  stone,  the  old 
tradition  would  have  been  fulfilled.  In  the  next  room 
was  a  colossal  statue  of  the  stately  Zenobia. 


WILL-O'-THE-WISP 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  223 

Miss  Hosmer  took  us  into  the  inner  room  where 
she  works.  Just  beyond  the  entrance  stands  the 
group  on  which  she  is  now  engaged — The  Waking 
Faun.  It  is  the  sequel  to  the  Sleeping  Faun,  which 
was  exhibited  in  Edinburgh  and  in  Paris.  I  despair 
of  being  able  to  describe  to  you  that  beautiful  being, 
from  whose  lips  the  soft  breath  of  slumber  seems  to 
come,  and  the  mirth  of  the  wicked  little  satyr  who  is 
tying  together,  around  the  tree  against  which  he  re- 
poses, the  tail  of  the  Faun,  and  the  skin  of  a  wild 
beast,  which  forms  his  drapery.  The  Waking  Faun 
is  yet  only  in  the  clay,  and  is  daily  undergoing  the 
moulding  of  the  sculptor's  hand.  I  was  glad  to  see 
it  in  this  stage,  as  it  shows  how  entirely  the  whole 
expression  of  the  statue  is  due  to  the  sculptor  him- 
self, and  how  mechanical  is  the  work  of  the  chisel. 
Miss  Hosmer  pla3xd  upon  it  with  a  hose  as  we  went 
in,  saying,  '  I  think  sprinking  improves  his  expres- 
sion.' Here  the  Waking  Faun  has  caught  the  of- 
fender in  the  act,  and  with  one  hand  grasping  the 
little  ^lischief  by  the  hair,  is  bending  back  his  head 
and  looking  in  his  face,  with  a  countenance  into  whose 
sweetness  and  good  humor  he  tries  in  vain  to  introduce 
a  look  of  sternness.  '  You  see  he  takes  it  coolly,' 
said  Miss  Hosmer,  '  Fauns  don't  get  angry  you  know. 
I  should  be  ashamed  to  tell  you  how  long  I  have  been 
on  that  statue,  but — no,  I  shouldn't.  Mr.  Gibson 
used  to  say,  when  I  was  in  his  studio,  and  working 
so  long  on  the  Medusa — "  Nobody  asks  you  how  long 
you  have  been  on  a  thing  but  fools,  and  you  don't 
care  what  they  think."  ' 

If  the  chisel  of  Praxiteles  has  not  been  forever 
lost,  Harriet  Hosmer  has  found  it.  Under  her  hand 
the  beautiful  old  myths  live  again,  and  all  her  works 
are  suggestive  of  noble  meaning,  not  only  expressive 
of  genius  themselves,  but  so  full  of  an  exquisite  fancy 
that  they  would  inspire  genius  in  others. 


224  HARRIET  HOSMER 

I  forgot  to  say  that  the  Waking  Faun  is  to  go  to 
Lady  Ashburton,  who  has  his  companion,  the  Sleeping 
Faun.  I  grudge  them  both  to  her.  They  should  not 
stand  in  a  fine  old  English  hall,  Avhere  the  guests  after 
dinner  will  stroll  by  and  give  them  the  praise  of 
connoisseurs.  Our  eager,  over-worked  American  life 
needs  more  such  embodiments  of  the  Spirit  of  Beauty. 
They  should  stand  in  a  gallery  in  one  of  our  noisy 
cities,  where  men  and  women,  tired  from  the  long 
fight  with  the  demon  of  Worry,  could  go  in  and 
breathe  for  a  few  moments  the  air  which  they  bring 
from  the  woods  where  they  played  in  childliood. 

JNIiss  Cushman,  whose  beautiful  house  opens  wide 
its  hospitable  doors  to  her  countrjanen  here,  is  very 
like  her  friend,  JNIiss  Hosmer,  in  manner.  Her  Sat- 
urday receptions  assemble  the  pleasantest  elements 
of  artistic  and  social  life  in  Rome.  She  herself  is  a 
host  in  entertaining  her  guests;  her  singing  is  some- 
thing peculiar  and  characteristic;  it  is  intenselj'^  dra- 
matic, and  impresses  one  powerfully.  Her  singing  of 
Kingsley's  '  JNIary,  go  and  ca'  the  cattle  hame,'  is 
something  never  to  be  forgotten.  One  holds  one's 
breath,  and  shivers,  as  she  brings  out,  '  the  cruel  foam 
— the  hungry,  crawling  foam.'  " 

The  next  work  of  the  artist  was  a  chimney-piece, 
which  she  thus  describes: 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  ^°'^-  ^^'''^h,  1867. 

.  .  .  Turning  from  other  things,  here  is  my  design. 
A  subject  for  a  chimney-piece  ought  to  have  some- 
thing to  do  with  wood  or  fire,  so  I  have  selected  this, 
the  Death  of  the  Dryads.  At  the  risk  of  telling  you 
what  you  maj^  already  know,  I  will  describe  a  little. 
According  to  mythology  every  tree  had  its  own  par- 
ticular nymph,   who  dwelt  in  it;  but  when  the  tree 


v\-r^' 


w^- 


y  \} 


=y 


-/"•,- 


A 


'^-.' 


—   -^-v. 


:h  of  the 


.Tv:: 


-'I'.-^j. 


3 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  DRYADS 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  225 

died,  the  nymph  died  with  it.  Now  I  have  represented 
these  Httle  lads  busily  engaged  in  cutting  down  the 
trees,  and  as  they  have  cut  off  all  but  the  last  branches, 
there  is  nothing  left  for  the  Dryads  but  to  die,  which 
they  are  about  to  do.  Below,  two  of  the  little  fellows 
are  warming  themselves  by  the  fire,  which  they  are 
cutting  wood  to  supply.  That  is  the  story.  It  is  to 
be  made  of  statuary  marble  and  the  figures  are  to  be 
life  size,  so  it  will  be  something  rather  important.  It 
is  for  Lady  Ashburton,  and  is  to  be  placed  in  the 
drawing-room  at  JNIelchet   Court.  .  .  . 

...  I  must  tell  you  of  a  curious  incident  which 
occurred  two  evenings  ago.  C.  had  been  dining  with 
me,  and  shortly  after  dinner  I  made  the  original 
observation  that  I  would  take  possession  of  the  sofa 
and  have  "  forty  winks."  I  had  just  lain  down,  when 
I  was  moved  to  saj^  "  I  have  such  a  feeling  of  a 
carriage  accident."  (It  had  dwelt  on  my  mind  very 
forcibly  for  a  minute  or  two,  so  that  at  last  I  felt 
impelled  to  speak.)  "Nonsense,"  said  C,  "you  are 
dreaming,  you  have  been  asleep."  "  Nothing  of  the 
sort,"  I  replied  (which  was  true),  and  I  repeated  the 
words  again,  adding,  "  Now  let's  see  what  comes 
of  it."  I  then  dozed  off  for  about  ten  minutes, 
as  she  reports,  when  a  tremendous  crash  under  my 
windows,  in  the  Cortile  of  the  Barberini  Palace, 
startled  us  both.  Up  I  flew  to  the  nearest  window 
and  there  was  the  Princess  Orsini's  carriage,  upside 
down,  on  a  y>\\e  of  bricks,  wliich  in  true  Italian  fashion 
had  been  left  right  in  tlie  drivewa}^  with  no  lantern. 
Her  face  was  a  good  deal  cut  with  the  broken  glass 
and  both  shoulders  bruised,  and  a  mercy  it  was  she 
and  the  others  were  not  killed.  It  was  quite  theatrical 
to  see  the  servants  of  the  Barberini  gatlier  about  in 
their  gay  liveries,  torches  in  hand  to  watch  the  rescue 
of  the  Princess  and  her  companion,  as  they  were  care- 
fully drawn  through  tlie  window  on  the  upper  side  of 


226  HARRIET  HOSMER 

the  carriage.  They  were  in  gay  evening  gowns,  being 
on  their  way  to  a  ball  at  the  Palazzo  Barberini — so 
you  see  what  a  witch  I  am!  Yours    H 

In  June  Miss  Hosmer  went  to  Paris  to  superintend 
the  placing  of  her  Sleeping  Faun,  which  she  had  sent 
to  the  French  Exposition,  and  from  there  writes: 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Dear  Pater:  ^^^^«'  ^^^^  ^'  ^^^^' 

Though  I  sent  you  a  line  yesterday  via  C I 

cannot  resist  sending  you  another  to-night  via  myself, 
and  for  two  reasons.  One  is,  to  salute  you  on  the 
"  Glorious  Fourth,"  and  the  other  is,  to  tell  you  of 
a  curious  coincidence  which  occurred  at  the  Exposi- 
tion. I  mentioned  to  you  yesterday  my  little  plan, 
in  which  Mr.  Layard  is  involved.  Well,  to-day  I  had 
thought,  what  would  I  give  for  a  five  minutes'  chat 
with  him,  when  whose  should  I  see,  all  at  once,  but 
his  well-known  smiling  face!  The  only  face  we 
recognized  in  the  whole  exhibition,  and  the  one  that 
I  most  wanted  at  that  particular  moment  to  see.  He 
was  escorting  a  body  of  working  men  *  from  Lon- 
don. He  arrived  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  he 
leaves  here  to-morrow.  He  says  the  only  thing  is 
to  decide  upon  the  best  place  for  showing  my  design  t 
in  London.  All  the  rest  is  easy  sailing.  I  told  him 
my  object  was  to  have  it  seen  by  a  few,  whose  opinions 
were  worth  having,  and  send  it  home  endorsed  by 
them.  He  entered  into  the  plan  most  heartily.  He 
says  he  considers  the  work  to  be  the  most  interesting 
and  important  of  any  of  modern  times. 

*  Layard  had  taken  a  party  of  some  two  thousand  workmen  from  Southwark 
to  Paris  to  see  the  Exhibition, 

f  The  design  for  a  monument  to  Lincoln. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  227 

Well,  I  have  seen  my  Sleeping  Faun.  Beckwith  * 
did  for  me  the  very  best  he  could,  and  altogether,  I 
don't  think  if  I  had  been  upon  the  spot,  I  could  have 
done  better. 

The  news  of  the  death  of  Maximilian  has  plunged 
the  Court  into  mourning,  and  all  festivities  are  sus- 
pended. It  was  announced  yesterday,  and  it  is  said 
the  Emperor  was  informed  of  it  as  he  was  preparing 
to  award  the  medals.  What  a  sad  knowledge  for 
him;  worse  too,  to  keep  it  to  himself  all  day.  It  is 
believed  Napoleon  may  date  his  downfall  from  this 
news,  and  they  say  his  face  in  the  procession  was  the 
saddest  ever  seen.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

When  it  was  proposed  to  erect  a  monument  to  the 
Martyr  President  of  the  United  States  (Abraham 
Lincoln)  Miss  Hosmer  was  invited  to  present  a  de- 
sign in  competition  with  other  artists.  How  heartily 
she  entered  into  this  work  her  own  words  show.  Al- 
though the  commission  was  eventually  given  to  Mr. 
Larkin  G.  Mead,  she  thoroughly  enjoyed  making  the 
drawings  and  the  model  for  it.  Those  who  saw  them 
gave  the  work  great  praise,  as  appears  from  this  letter 
of  Sir  Henry  Layard: 

SIR  HENRY  LAYARD  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

130  Piccadilly,  August  8,  1867. 
Dear  3Iiss  Hosmer: 

I  have  carefully  examined  the  design  for  the  monu- 
ment t  to  President  Lincoln,  and  I  congratulate  you 
most  sincerely  upon  your  success.     It  appears  to  me 

*  The    Director.  f  See    Appendix    D. 


228  HARRIET  HOSMER 

that  the  general  conception  is  singularly  appropriate, 
and  that  you  have  carried  out  the  great  object  which 
should  be  alwaj^s  kept  in  view  in  the  erection  of  such 
monuments,  viz.,  to  convey  vividly  and  unmistakably 
to  the  spectator  the  great  characteristics  of  the  per- 
son to  whom  it  is  erected.  The  idea  of  representing 
the  negro  in  the  four  different  stages  of  his  existence, 
from  the  slave  to  the  free  man  and  citizen,  is  new 
and  striking.  The  statue  of  the  President  himself, 
crowning  the  group,  and  holding  the  broken  chains 
in  his  hands,  is  admirably  conceived.  I  think  that 
you  have  done  quite  right  in  placing  it  within  a 
temple,  which  gives  an  appropriate  architectural 
termination  to  the  monument.  The  idea  of  represent- 
ing the  different  states  of  the  Union  by  allegorical 
figures  on  the  pedestal  is  also  good,  and  enables  you 
to  give  a  classical  character  to  the  monument. 

Your  friends,  and  they  are  many  in  this  country, 
rejoice  to  find  that  you  have  succeeded  in  producing 
a  design  for  a  monument  which  will  be  worthy  of  that 
great  and  good  man,  whose  untimely  death  every 
true  Englishman  and  lover  of  freedom  deplores. 

I  am  most  truly, 

Layard.  .< 

Mr.  Gladstone  being  an  old  friend  of  the  artist 
she  asked  his  opinion  of  two  designs  for  this  monu- 
ment, and  he  thus  replies: 

Hawarden^  Chester,  Sept.  26,  1867. 
Dear  Miss  Hosmer: 

I  received  yesterday  the  small  photograph  of  your 
first  design  in  memory  of  President  Lincoln;  and  I 
have  been  fortunate  in  an  opportunity  of  showing 
the  two  to  several  friends  who  were  here  and  who 
are  no  mean  judges  of  such  things,  as  knowledge  goes 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  229 

among  non-professional  persons,  so  that  I  feel  my- 
self less  guilty  of  presumption  than  I  should  other- 
wise have  done,  in  acceding  to  your  request  that  I 
would  give  you  my  opinion  as  between  the  two  de- 
signs. In  the  first  one  I  venture  to  like  the  principle 
of  the  recumbent  figure,  and  the  greater  elevation  of 
the  pedestal.  But  the  first  is,  I  fear,  unsuited  to  a 
monument  of  this  public  nature  on  so  large  a  scale, 
and  the  second  might  be  adopted,  if  you  were  to 
think  fit.  On  the  other  hand,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  you  gain  a  cardinal  advantage  by  bringing  the 
great  subject  of  emancipation  out  of  obscurity  into 
prominence,  while  in  practice,  the  introduction  of  a 
standing  figure  for  a  recumbent  one  appears  to  be  a 
great  improvement.  Some  other  points  of  the  treat- 
ment I  should  venture  also  to  prefer;  but  the  grand 
consideration  is,  after  all,  that  which  I  have  named 
the  first,  and  which  goes  to  the  root  of  the  whole 
matter.  I  cordially  wish,  therefore,  that  you  may  be 
able  to  carry  out  the  change  which  you  desire. 
Believe  me 

Very  faithfully  yours, 

W.  E.  Gladstone. 

This  year  the  artist  made  a  long  sojourn  in  Great 
Britain,  and  wrote  of  her  visits: 


Newbridge,  Ireland,  August  10,  1867. 

Dear  3Ir.  Crow: 

When  I  told  a  friend  in  London  that  I  was  going 
to  make  a  visit  in  Ireland  first  and  then  in  Scotland, 
she  thought  I  had  a  Herculean  journey  before  me, 
but  I  told  her  that  to  me,  who  had  travelled  from 
Rome  to  Boston  in  seventeen  days,  the  tour  in  ques- 
tion was  only  suggestive  of  taking  one's  bag  and 
making  it  on  foot. 


230  HARRIET  IIOSMER 

Well,  here  I  am,  performing  the  first  part  of  it, 
in  a  delightful  place  and  in  the  old  home  of  a  friend 
who  is  verj'-  dear  to  me.  We  are  about  ten  miles  from 
Dublin,  and  when  I  speak  of  a  cool  summer,  I  mean 
such  weather  as  we  have  in  the  winter  in  Rome. 
Verily  it  is  a  jump  from  the  sweltering  heat  of  Rome 
and  even  from  the  getting-to-be-oppressive  heat  of 
London.  This  seems  the  densest  solitude  in  com- 
parison with  the  rush  and  crush  of  London,  though 
there  is  a  gay  party  staying  in  the  house,  besides  the 
family.  A  month  of  London  life  would  be  about  as 
much  as  I  could  stand,  for  what  with  the  late  hours, 
the  huge  dinners,  and  the  excitement  of  all  sorts,  and 
never  having  five  minutes  of  quiet,  my  brain  begins 
to  spin  about  the  seventh  day  and  is  utterly  upset 
and  made  gelatinous  by  the  thirtieth.  I  always  think 
how  impossible  it  would  be  to  accomplish  anything 
serious  in  that  place,  and  when  one  has  had  enough 
of  a  holiday,  I  turn  my  mental  vision  toward  Rome, 
as  the  Mecca  of  working  prophets. 

In  another  week  I  leave  here  for  Scotland  and 
then  drop  down  to  England  again,  where  I  have 
divers  social  things  on  the  docket,  two  or  three  visits 
to  what  I  call  my  "  homes."  I  often  say  I  am  the 
richest  woman  in  England  without  any  trouble,  for 
I    have   only   to    say,    "  I    am    coming,"    and    all    is 

'^"'^y-  ■  ■  •  Yours,  H. 


Bryn  Rhodyn,  Dolgelly,  N.  Wai.es, 

Sep.  8,  1867. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

I  have  made  a  jump  and  landed  on  the  Welsh  hills, 
and  I  never  breathed  such  air.  I  could  walk  twenty 
miles  at  a  stretch,  which  stretch  has  no  reference  to 
length  of  leg.  We  have  been  on  a  most  delightful 
excursion  nearly  all  day,  under  the  guidance  of  Miss 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  231 

Lloyd.     She  has  reason  to  be  proud  of  her  country 
as  far  as  its  atmosphere  and  beauty  are  concerned. 

You  will  be  pleased  to  hear  that  I  am  now  enter- 
ing upon  a  course  of  diet  and  exercise.  I  have  been 
doing  the  "  Signora  "  to  such  an  extent,  driving  about 
in  smart  carriages,  ignoring  the  fact  that  I  had  a 
pair  of  legs,  and  eating  far  too  much  of  the  good 
things  of  this  life,  but  three  days  of  these  hills  and  a 
little  less  of  pampering  have  already  set  me  up  very 
vigorously.  I  now  think  that  the  ascetic  mode  of 
life  is  the  true  one,  and  shouldn't  wonder  if  next 
you  heard  of  me  as  living  upon  bread  and  water  and 
wearing  a  hair  shirt. 

Miss  Lloyd  is  hospitality  itself.  Miss  Cobbe  *  jollity 
itself,  and  we  three  are  as  snug  as  possible.  I 
received  your  last  letter  yesterday  morning,  just  as 
we  were  booting  and  spurring  ourselves  for  an  ex- 
pedition which  turned  out  to  be  one  of  the  most 
successful  on  record.  I  rather  astonished  Miss  Lloyd, 
who  is  our  tutelary  deity,  by  my  spring  of  leg  and 
vigor  of  windpipe.  The  air  is  perfectly  delicious, 
like  champagne,  only  much  better,  for  that  I  never 
drink,  but  the  air!  I  walk  with  my  mouth  wide  open 
to  get  as  much  of  it  as  I  can.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

Then  came  this  note: 

MRS.  SARTORIS  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Warsash,  Titchfield,  Sep.  1867. 

My  dearest  Hat: 

I  leave  this  on  the  29th,  so  come  as  quickly  as  ever 
you  can  and  I  will  show  you  a  bit  of  England  that  j'^ou 
shall  call  pretty  in  spite  of  Scotch  heather  and  Welsh 
hills.      We    will    play    cribbage    again,    and    go    over 

*  Frances  Power  Cobbe. 


232  HARRIET  HOSMER 

the  old  days  in  the  beloved  Soutliland,  and  make  the 
old  jokes  and  try  to  laugh  the  old  laughs.  I  have  just 
written  to  Lord  Lyons  to  ask  him  to  come,  for  I 
am  sure  you  would  both  like  to  meet  again.  .  .  . 

Ever  j^our  loving, 

"  Mar/' 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Warsash,  Titchfield,  Tuesday,  Sept.  1867. 
Dear  Pater: 

The  other  day  I  put  on  a  six  league  bootee, — you 
see  what  a  delicate  shade  of  difference  between  that 
and  the  seven  league  boot,  and  just  stepped  out  of 
Wales  over  here.  Unless  your  knowledge  of  English 
geography  is  a  deal  better  than  mine  was  twenty- 
four  hours  ago,  you  will  not  know  where  "  here  "  is. 
But  first  let  me  repeat  what  a  Paradise  upon  earth  is 
Wales,  or  rather  Dolgelly.  Of  all  delicious  air, 
that  is  the  finest.  I  haven't  tried  the  Highlands 
yet,  but  as  far  as  my  travels  extend,  the  wind 
whistles  round  the  Welsh  hills  and  into  one's  lungs 
complete. 

On  Friday  I  departed;  got  up  at  4:00  a.m.^  which 
was  a  corker  for  me,  slept  in  London,  ran  round 
wildly  through  the  metropolis  in  the  morning,  for  the 
American  consul,  and  in  the  afternoon  came  here 
to  Mrs.  Sartoris.  How  oddly  things  come  round  in 
this  world!  To  think  that  I  am  writing  you  from 
under  her  roof!  Oh,  but  she's  sweet!  Sunday  she 
read  to  me  all  the  afternoon.  Yesterday  she  sung 
to  me  all  the  dear  old  Roman  songs,  and  this  morning 
she  has  been  reading  to  me  something  of  her  own. 
In  the  evenings  she  gives  me  as  much  cribbage  as  I 
ask  for.  What  more  can  one  desire?  I  stay  here 
till  Monday,  and  then  I  was  going  to  Stowe,  but 
having,  by  the  merest  chance,  discovered  that  Lady 
Ashburton  is  only  fifteen  miles  from  here,  I  propose 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  233 

to  go  to  her  first,  and  save  the  long  journey  back 
again.  Annie  Thackeray  is  here,  and  all  have  been 
out  yachting  to-day  to  Cowes.  Needless  to  say  that 
I  stick  to  terra  fi?'ma,  and  have  had  Mrs.  Sartoris  all 
to  myself,  which  I  like  better  than  any  sea  excursion 
in  the  world. 

I  shall  get  away  from  England  very  late,  and 
shouldn't  dawdle  so  long  if  it  were  not  for  cholera 

^^  ^^^^y-  Yours,  H. 

At  this  time  came  an  invitation  from  Lady  Alwyne 
Compton  to  Castle  Ashby.  This,  the  favorite  seat 
of  the  Marquis  of  Northampton,  is  a  stately  pile 
standing  on  high  ground  in  the  midst  of  beautiful 
gardens,  parks,  and  avenues  of  ancient  trees.  It 
dates  from  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth  and  has 
been  added  to  at  various  times.  Among  those  of 
other  noted  men,  it  bears  the  impress  of  Inigo 
Jones's  taste  and  skill.  Perhaps  its  most  notable 
feature  is  the  balustrade  which  runs  around  the  en- 
tire top  of  the  castle.  It  is  composed  of  stone- 
work in  the  shape  of  huge  letters,  so  arranged  that 
they  form  verses  and  quaint  mottoes,  as  the  follow- 
ing: 

"  Unless  the  Lord  build  the  house,  the  labor  is  but 
lost  that  builds  it." 

"  Unless  the  Lord  keep  the  city,  the  watcher 
watcheth  but  in  vain." 

On  the  gallery  over  the  entrance  is: 

"  The  Lord  preserve  thy  going  out  and  the  Lord 
preserve  thy  coming  in." 

This  unusual  decoration  is  repeated  in  the  balus- 
trades surrounding  the  many  terraces  which  overlook 


234.  HARRIET  HOSMER 

the  gardens.     It  is  said  that  only  one  other  mansion 
in  England  is  ornamented  in  this  unique  fashion. 

From  this  j^lace  Miss  Hosmer  writes: 

„        nr     r^  Castle  Ashby,  Oct.  6,  1867. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

I  wish  you  could  put  your  eyes  into  my  head  and 
see  this  most  beautiful  of  places.  I  look  out  of  my 
window  on  such  an  ocean  of  color  that  it  is  like  a  sea 
of  precious  stones.  Such  masses  of  flowers  were 
never  seen,  and  there,  on  the  right,  is  the  quaint  old 
church  covered  with  ivy  and  surrounded  by  grand 
old  trees.  In  the  middle  of  the  garden  are  two  foun- 
tains playing,  whose  jets  are  like  so  many  diamonds 
tumbling  again  into  the  sea  of  precious  stones.  Then 
the  old  castle  itself,  half  covered  with  ivy,  much  of  it 
turning  red,  which  looks  so  well  on  the  old  grey 
walls,  and  the  courtyard  within  the  two  towers  on  each 
side,  all  green  with  ivy  again. 

I  am  writing  to  you  now  in  my  bedroom,  which  is 
called  Queen  Elizabeth's  room,  because  she  came  here, 
I  believe,  and  left  her  name  behind  her,  and  I  expect 
every  night  to  see  her  ghost  dangling  from  the  crim- 
son damask  canopy  which  screens  my  humble  head. 
Then  I  turn  to  another  look-out  and  see  the  grand 
avenue  which  leads  to  the  castle,  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
wide  and  three  miles  long,  a  nice  little  walk  of  a 
morning  down  to  the  gates  before  breakfast.  (Really 
I  didn't  know  I  was  such  a  dabster  at  description!) 

I  should  like  to  stay  here  all  my  days,  but  on  Mon- 
day I  am  inveigled  off  to  another  old  castle,  not  by 
a  fierce  ogress,  however,  but  by  the  duchess  of  Cleve- 
land, who  invites  me  to  Raby  Castle.  I  thought  I 
should  not  be  able  to  manage  that,  for  it  is  quite  a 
journey,  but  when  I  heard  that  you  could  drive  a 
carriage  and  four  into  the  reception  room,  and  drive 
out  again,  I  thought  I  must  see  it,  whether  or  no. 


< 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  235 

I  have  been  here  six  days  and  can't  get  away.  It 
is  fatal  to  come,  because  it  is  impossible  to  go. 

Yours,  H. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

j^         p  /     .  ASHRIDGE^  Oct.   1867. 

Since  you  say  you  like  descriptions,  I  will  launch 
into  a  little  one  of  what  I  have  been  doing  since  I 
left  Castle  Ashby.  I  w^ent  to  Raby,  and  I  must  say 
that  if  you  intend  to  lie  straight  in  your  grave,  you 
had  better  see  Raby  first.  It  is  one  of  the  finest  old 
castles  in  England,  old  beyond  telling,  as  I  should  not 
think  of  saying  if  you  could  see  it,  for  the  grey  walls 
carry  conviction  with  them. 

But  first  I  must  record  a  disaster  truly  disgraceful 
for  two  old  travellers  like  Kuhl  *  and  myself.  I  lost 
my  luggage,  nothing  very  extraordinary,  either;  for 
as  we  went  across  country  and  not  straight  from 
London,  we  had  no  end  of  changes,  and  not  a  luggage 
ticket  (by  which  I  mean  a  label)  could  be  found, 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  journey.  Be- 
tween York  and  Darlington,  which  is  the  chief  end  of 
the  line,  there  was  a  slight  misunderstanding,  if  you 
can  properly  apply  that  term  to  the  loss  of  all  one's 
petticoats  and  belongings.  In  short,  I  had  to  wait 
three  hours  at  Darlington  for  the  blessed  boxes,  which 
had  been  on  to  Newcastle,  to  be  returned,  and  lucky 
was  I  to  get  them  then.  The  waiting  was  not  so 
much  as  being  thrown  out  of  all  hours,  for  as  there 
was  no  carriage  to  be  obtained  at  the  station  further 
on  (which  is  only  a  little  village),  and  as  one  had 
been  sent  from  Raby  at  the  time  I  was  due,  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  send  a  messenger  and  ask 
them  to  be  good  enough  to  send  a  second  time,  which 
was  no  joke,  seeing  it  is  a  distance  of  several  miles. 

*  Her    maid. 


236  HARRIET  HOSMER 

But  at  last  I  arrived  at  my  destination.  The  first 
gate,  the  second  gate,  then  the  third  gate  were  all 
passed,  and  we  came  in  view  of  the  castle;  and  never 
shall  I  forget  the  first  glimpse  of  it,  and  thankful  was 
I  that  I  had  lost  my  luggage  and  so  was  to  see  it  first 
by  moonlight.  The  moon  shone  upon  the  moat,  the 
stags  were  bellowing  in  the  Park,  the  flag  was  flying 
like  the  ghost  of  a  flag,  and  it  was  a  picture!  Then 
we  crossed  the  moat,  the  horn  was  blown,  the  gates 
flew  open,  and  we  whisked  through  three  or  four 
courts  and  then  came  what  produced  the  strangest 
effect  of  all:  we  were  driven  into  the  reception  room 
and  landed  in  front  of  the  most  cheerful  blaze  ever 
seen,  which  was  not  amiss  after  a  long,  cold  drive.  It 
was  then  about  eleven  o'clock,  and  you  better  believe 
that  I  had  a  dinner  in  my  own  room  and  whipped 
into  bed  and  didn't  show  myself  in  the  ducal  presence 
till  the  next  morning.  Then,  however,  I  rose  with 
the  lark  (larks  don't  rise  in  old  castles  till  half -past 
nine),  and  on  descending  and  finding  the  whole  party 
assembled,  and  a  goodly  party  it  was,  I  discovered 
that  I  knew  every  one  of  them  except  one.  Rome 
is  certainly  a  wonderful  place  for  bringing  you  in  con- 
tact with  everybody. 

Well,  I  had  a  delightful  visit  at  Raby,  and  then 
I  came  here  to  Lady  Marian  Alford,  who  is  more 
darling  than  ever.  On  Monday  I  go  to  the  Duchess 
of  Buckingham  for  a  few  days,  then  Lady  Ashburton 
claims  me  for  a  few  more. 

Yours,  H. 

WoTTON  House,  Aylesbury,  Oct.  24,  1867. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

I  don't  know  when  I  have  been  so  late  in  getting 
back  to  Rome.  I  am  afraid  the  Pope  can't  do  with- 
out me  much  longer,  besides,  a  good  general  should 
be  on  the  spot  in  time  of  danger  to  encourage  his 


< 

< 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  237 

men,  and,  what  is  much  more  to  the  purpose,  keep 
them  from  running  away  to  join  Garibaldi.  I  am 
now  with  the  Duchess  of  Buckingham,  but  not  at 
Stowe.  The  Duke  being  summoned  to  Balmoral  to 
attend  the  Queen,  she  is  here  and  will  remain  till  his 
return. 

If  I  came  to  England  often,  I  should  be  quite 
spoiled.  I  never  had  such  a  heavenly  grace  of  en- 
joyment, but  it  wouldn't  do  for  long.  I  should  quite 
lose  the  power  of  work.  It  is  altogether  too  lazy 
and  luxurious  a  life  for  a  poor  artist.  The  poor 
artist  must  fly  to  her  clay  pit  and  her  tin  tea  kettle, 
and  that  right  soon.  I  go  from  here  to  Lady  Ash- 
burton,  then  to  London  for  a  bit.  ^t  tt 
*                                                             xours,  M. 

From   Melchet   Court    (Lady   Ashburton's    place) 
Miss  Hosmer  decided  to  go  to  Ashridge. 

It  is  of  this  place  where  the  artist  passed  so  many 
happy  days  that  a  recent  writer  says,  "  It  has  a  great 
past,  a  beautiful  present,  and  a  marvellous  history." 
It  dates  back  more  than  seven  centuries,  to  the  mon- 
astery of  Bons  Homines.  When  the  monks  were  dis- 
possessed (in  1500)  the  lands  fell  to  the  Crown. 
Edward  VI  bestowed  it  upon  his  sister  Elizabeth, 
and  it  proved  to  her,  for  a  time,  a  quiet  refuge,  but 
after  she  became  Queen  she  never  cared  to  return 
to  it  as  a  residence.  The  present  princely  mansion 
was  built  upon  the  site  of  the  old  monks'  convent, 
the  ruins  of  which  contributed  material  for  it.  It 
came  by  descent  into  the  possession  of  Viscount  AI- 
ford.  His  widow.  Lady  Marian  Alford,  was  its 
gracious  hostess  during  Miss  Hosmer's  frequent  visits. 
At  her  death  it  passed  to  her  son.  Lord  Brownlow, 
the  present  owner. 


238  HARRIET  HOSMER 

The  front  of  the  castle  extends  a  thousand  feet  from 
tov/er  to  tower,  and  looks  upon  velvety  lawns,  bright 
gardens,  and  avenues  of  stately  trees,  with  parks  and 
woodlands  in  the  distance.  There  still  is  shown  a  tree 
planted  by  Queen  Elizabeth  during  her  residence 
there.  Among  other  relics  of  her  which  are  still  pre- 
served are  her  toilet  articles.  Lady  Marian  was  wont 
to  tell  an  amusing  incident  in  connection  with  them. 
It  seems  that  Miss  Hosmer  was  one  of  a  party  gath- 
ered there,  when  from  among  the  treasured  souvenirs 
under  lock  and  key,  the  brush  and  comb  of  the  Queen 
were  brought  forth.  At  the  same  time  was  shown  a 
tiny  lock  of  long,  red  hair,  and  one  of  the  family 
exclaimed,  "  What  a  pity  we  have  never  been  able  to 
find  more  than  three  strands  of  the  Queen's  hair, 
though  we  have  tried  over  and  over  again."  "  Oh," 
said  Miss  Hosmer,  "  give  me  the  brush.  I'll  produce 
another."  Thereupon  she  drew  the  comb  slowly 
across  it,  and  one  long,  red  hair  appeared,  to  the 
amazement  of  all,  but  most  of  all  to  that  of  the 
artist  herself,  who  declared  it  was  the  uncanniest 
thing  that  ever  happened  to  her.  It  was  added  to 
the  precious  lock,  now  numbering  four  strands. 

Among  the  guests  when  Miss  Hosmer  was  at  Ash- 
ridge,  was  the  Honorable  Mary  Boyle,  called  one  of 
the  wittiest  women  in  London  society.  For  the  en- 
tertainment of  the  friends  gathered  together,  she 
wrote  and  read  to  them  a  sketch  descriptive  of  the 
assembled  party,  calling  it  "  Court  and  Camp  of 
Queen  Marian."  In  this  she  included  Miss  Hosmer 
as  one  of  the  "  loyal  subjects  of  Her  Majesty,"  and 
described  her  as  "  quick,  impetuous,  laughing,  dark- 


o 
p 

1—4 

CO 

< 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  239 

eyed,  diminutive,  irregular  in  feature,  her  whole  face 
and  form  full  of  fun  and  movement  and  quick  transi- 
tion, which  in  no  way  affected  her  heart  that  was  as 
steadfast  as  she  herself  was  motatory.  Nothing  could 
conceal  that  inner  fire  of  the  spirit,  that  glowing  light 
of  genius,  which  shone  through  the  transparent  cov- 
ering that  encased  the  inner  soul  of  Berretina."  * 

Miss  Hosmer,  whose  pen  was  as  ready  as  her  wit, 
replied  to  this  in  some  verses  which  are  here  given. 
Needless  to  say,  they  created  quite  as  much  amuse- 
ment as  did  the  production  of  Miss  Boyle. 

THE  GHOST  FROM  BUNKER  HILL 

being  a  continuation  of 

COURT  AND  CAMP  OF  QUEEN  MARIAN 


o 

Dedicated 

(without  asking) 

to 

My  Gracious  Queen 

by 

Berretina. 

THE  GHOST  FROM  BUNKER  HILL. 

I. 

We  sat  alone,  my  lamp  and  I, 
And  it  were  hard  to  tell 

Which  looked  the  brightest  of  the  two, 
Myself  or  my  carcel 

•Berretina — little    hat    (a    favorite    nickname). 


240  HARRIET  HOSMER 

II. 

"  What  say  ye  now,  my  friend,"  quoth  I, 
And  stroked  his  radiant  rim, 

"To  one  more  social  evening  coze?" 
Says  he,  "  I  am  in  trim." 

III. 

"  Then,  cheeriest  soul  upon  the  globe, 
Send  forth  thy  cheeriest  ray; 

'Tis  understood  you  go  not  out 
If  I  consent  to  stay. 

IV. 

"  We'll  have  an  intellectual  feast, 
Consume  your  midnight  oil, 

While  I  devour,  with  '  Court  and  Camp,' 
The  spice  of  Mary  Boyle." 

V. 

And  as  I  read  my  fancy  drew 

Uncertain  poised  the  while, 
A  something  very  like  a  tear, 

And  very  like  a  smile. 

VI. 

And  then,  with  pleasant  memories,  she 
Unveiled  the  regal  scene — 

I  kissed  a  soft  white  hand,  and  swore 
Allegiance  to  my  Queen. 

VII. 

And,  musing  thus,  one  eyelid  closed, 

The  one  became  a  pair — 
A  demi-nod — and  then,  methought, 

A  rattle  in  the  air. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  241 

VIII. 

"  Good  lack,"  thought  I,  "  'tis  passing  strange ! 

Mine  ears  deceive,  mayhap ; 
No  well-bred  spirit  now  intrudes 

Without,  at  least,  a  rap." 

IX. 

But  vain  my  logic,  and  in  vain 

My  senses  doubted  still 
There  stood  the  spectre  on  one  leg — 

The  other  leg  was  nil. 

X. 

Thrice  from  his  maxillaries  he 

Emitted  ghastly  tones ; 
And  thrice  he  waved  impatiently 

His  metacarpal  bones. 

XI. 

And  thus,  in  hollow  accents,  spake — 

For  reasons  plain  to  see. 
Because,  like  other  skeletons 

Still  hollower  was  he 

XII. 

"  And  is  it  thus  my  recreant  niece 

Preserves   my  memory  green.'' 
And  is  it  thus,"  quoth  he,  "  she  swears 

Allegiance  to  a  Queen.'' 

XIII. 


« 


Was  it  for  this  that  seventy-six 
Her  bravest  blood  did  spill? 
Was  it  for  this  I  fought  and  bled. 
And   fell  on  Bunker  Hill?" 


242  HARRIET  HOSMER 

XIV. 

"  My  martial  Ancestor,"  quoth  I, 

"  From  patriot  ire  refrain, 
And  sit,  lest  with  that  missing  leg, 

You  get  a  fall  again." 

XV. 

"  These  stiffened  bones,  my  recreant  niece, 

No   other  posture  know ; 
I  stand  erect,  as  when  I  stood 

To  meet  your  country's  foe." 

XVI. 

"  From  forcing  you  to  bend  the  knee 
My  conscience  would  recoil: 

Is  it  from  principle,  or  want 
Of  lubricating  oil? 

XVII. 

"  It  irks  me  much  an  honored  guest, 
Who  once  as  conqueror  shone, 

Should  stand;  so,  prithee,  take  that  nail, 
And  hang  your  bones  thereon." 

XVIII. 

"  Correct,  I  pray  you,  recreant  niece. 
Correct  your  speech  and  air: 

How  fares  your  sire,  it  fears  me  much, 
You   very  little  care." 

XIX. 

"  Oh,  osseous  Ancestor !  "  quoth  I, 

"Your  pardon  I  must  beg: 
Say  not,  in  virtue  of  that  nail, 

I  do  not  care  a  peg !  " 


II 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  243 

XX. 


(( 


Your  words  offend  me,  and  they  fall 
With  graceless  point  from  you: 
Unto,"  quoth  he,  "  my  battered  front, 
At  least  respect  is  due." 


XXI. 


Think  not  thy  recreant  niece  forgets 
Thy  bellicose  renown, 
When  all  thy  grateful  country  knows 
You  fought  against  your  Crown." 

XXII. 

"  I  hold  your  wit  in  just  contempt," 
Quoth  he,  with  vengeful  brow, 

"  Your  very  lame  and  heartless  jests 
111  suit  my  humor  now." 

XXIII. 

Quoth  I,  "  But  jovial  we  must  be, 

I  see  no  help  for  it. 
Since,  so  unstinting,  you  engraft 

Your  humor  on  my  wit." 

XXIV. 

"  Enough !  "  quoth  he ;  "  my  words  are  few, 

Before  the  dews  distil. 
These  now  insulted  bones  must  lie 

Once  more  at  Bunker  Hill. 

XXV. 

"  Go  kiss  the  Sceptre  and  the  Crown, 
Forgetting  what  the  symbols  mean; 

Play  out  the  bitter  farce,  and  swear 
Allegiance  to  your  Queen." 


244.  HARRIET  HOSMER 

XXVI. 

And  then  a  pause.     Quoth  I,  "  You  view 
One  side,  and  nothing  more: 

One  word  from  me  " — but  that  one  word 
Was  grave  as  gay  before. 

XXVII. 

"  We  own  her  Queen,  because  our  hearts 
Grow  human  'neath  her  sway; 

We  question  no  command,  secure 
That  none  could  lead  astray. 

XXVIII. 

"  We  bless  the  Sceptre,  unsustained, 

Yet  firmest  in  the  land. 
Ruling  a  realm  of  smiles,  self-poised. 

So  open  is  her  hand. 

XXIX. 

"  We  bless  the  Crown  of  goodly  deeds, 

Unseen,  as,  one  by  one, 
Like  lilies  planted  in  the  shade, 

They  blossom  in  the  sun. 

XXX. 

"  We  kiss  the  Robe,  and  inward  pray, 

As  lovingly  we  bend, 
On  us  a  little  portion  of 

Her  mantle  might  descend. 

XXXI. 

"  We  kiss  the  lips,  we  kiss  the  hand — 
The  softest  hand  e'er  seen — 

And  own,  in  love  and  loyalty. 
Allegiance  to  our  Queen. 


j> 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  245 

XXXII. 

What  then  transpired  I  may  not  say, 

For  sleep  stepped  in  between ; 
I  went  to  shadow-land,  and  swore 

Allegiance  to  my  Queen. 

XXXIII. 

That  happy  dream !  it  haunts  me  still, 
Like   poppies   twined  with  flowers ; 

And  what  is  shadow  in  my  sleep 
Is  substance  in  my  waking  hours. 

It  is  of  Miss  Boyle  that  Mrs.  Browning  wrote  from 
Florence  in  1847,*  "  Miss  Mary  Boyle,  niece  of  the 
Earl  of  Cork,  authoress  and  poet,  a  very  vivacious 
little  person  with  sparkling  talk  enough,  ever  and 
anon,  comes  at  night,  at  nine  o'clock,  to  catch  us  at 
hot  chestnuts  and  mulled  wine,  and  to  warm  her  feet 
at  our  fire.  A  kinder,  more  cordial  little  creature, 
full  of  talent  and  accomplishment,  never  had  the 
world's  polish  on  it.  Very  amusing,  too,  and  original, 
and  a  good  deal  of  laughing  she  and  Robert  make 
between  them." 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  Ashridge,  Sunday  night. 

I  am  trying  to  catch  Mr.  Story,  to  see  if  he  can 
tell  me  anything  about  affairs  in  Rome.  Nobody  is 
going  back  at  present,  and  I  fear  that  we  should 
have  great  difficulty  in  getting  there.  Unless  I  hear 
more  tranquillizing  accounts  of  the  bullets  I  shall  de- 
lay my  departure  a  few  days;  besides,  affairs  of  state 
detain   me. 

*  Life  and  Letters  of  Robert   Browning,    by    Mrs.    Orr,    Vol.    I,    pages 
223-225. 


246  HARRIET  HOSMER 

The  other  day  Lady  Marian  was  speaking  of  her 
fountain  (the  photograph,  I  mean),  with  which  she 
is  greatly  pleased,  and  she  said,  "  I  must  tell  you 
something  about  the  Fountain.  When  the  Princess 
Mary  was  staying  in  my  house  at  Prince's  Gate  last 
winter,  the  Queen  came  to  see  her,  and  as  soon  as  she 
got  into  the  house  she  said,  '  But  where  is  Miss  Hos- 
mer's  Fountain?  I  want  to  see  it.'  So,"  said  Lady 
Marian,  "  when  I  get  it  I  am  going  to  exhibit  it  and 
invite  the  Queen  to  see  it,  and  shall  get  Lady  Ash- 
burton  to  let  me  exhibit  the  two  Fauns  *  at  the  same 

*""«=•  Yours,  H. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  Ashbidge,  1867. 

Between  exhibitions  and  friends  I  have  had  no  time 
either  to  eat  or  sleep,  and  when  I  give  up  the  former 
occupation  you  must  infer  I  am  pretty  busy.  In  fact 
it  wore  me  out  and  made  me  ill-ish,  and  so  Lady 
Marian  just  tucked  me  under  her  arm,  and  as  it 
chanced  where  she  was  going  to  visit  they  were  all 
my  friends,  too,  and  glad  to  see  me,  we  have  been 
enjoying  the  country  together.  Then  we  wound  up 
here  for  another  little  rest,  and  by  this  time  I  am 
equal  to  anything.  I  am  to  join  Lady  Ashburton 
next  week  at  Melchet  Court,  going  to  dear  Mrs.  Sar- 
toris  again  'twixt  now  and  then.  I  had  a  letter  from 
Lady  Warwick  inviting  me  to  the  Castle,  for  they 
were  there  much  later  than  usual  this  year,  but  I  was 
tied  in  many  ways  and  could  not  get  free. 

I  enclose  two  articles  about  my  Pompeiian  Sentinel, 
the  success  of  the  exhibition  of  which  astonished  me. 

"  Perhaps  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  at  the 
same  time  one  of  the  least  well  known  works  of  Miss 
Hosmer  is  that  of  the   Sentinel   of   Pompeii.     This 

*  The  Sleeping  Faun  and  the  Waking  Faun,  then  in  process  of  finishing. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  247 

is  the  first  work  of  the  artist  which  presses  severity 
of  style  to  very  sternness  of  subject  and  expression. 
It  would  be  a  remarkable  achievement  in  any  studio, 
and  is  even  more  remarkable  as  the  work  of  a  woman 
who  has  hitherto  chiefly  embodied  the  sprightly  and 
the  graceful. 

The  figure  is  of  colossal  size;  the  legionary  stands 
with  firmly  planted  feet  that  seem  to  grasp  the 
ground,  both  hands  clasp  the  staff  of  his  spear,  and 
his  face,  which  is  that  of  a  veteran,  and  recalls  the 
soldiery  physiognomies  that  we  see  on  the  Pillar  of 
Trajan,  has  the  settled  expression  which  denotes  that 
expectation  is  past,  and  that  he  has  nerved  himself  to 
await  the  inevitable  in  a  state  of  inaction  that  is  most 
repugnant  to  one  who  has  been  used  ever  to  confront 
death  with  all  his  energies  in  unrestrained  exertion. 
The  attitude,  it  need  not  be  said,  is  not  that  of  a  formal 
sentry  of  our  own  period;  the  suggestion  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  motion  is  given  by  the  advanced  foot,  which 
is  still  so  corrected  by  the  direction  of  the  sloping 
spear  as  to  indicate  at  the  same  time  the  impulse  and 
its  subjugation.  The  sentinel  knows  that  Death  is 
coming,  but  he  scorns  to  fly.  He  will  remain  and  meet 
him  face  to  face.  Herein  consists  all  the  poetry  of 
the  conception,  and  the  artist  has  done  justice  to  it." 

This  graphic  description  was  given  in  the  London 
Times,  in  August,  1867: 

"  In  the  outer  wall  to  the  right  of  the  sea-gate  of 
Pompeii,  on  the  road  which  leads  to  Herculaneum, 
is  a  niche  in  which,  at  an  early  period  in  the  exhuma- 
tion of  the  buried  city,  the  excavators  found  a  skele- 
ton, in  the  plain  armor  of  a  Roman  soldier.  Helmet, 
lance,  and  breast-plate  may  be  seen  hanging  near 
the  entrance  to  the  second  room  of  the  Museo  Bor- 
bonico  at  Naples. 


248  HARRIET  HOSMER 

The  sentinel  had  kept  his  post  till  overpowered 
by  the  sulphurous  vapor  of  the  falling  ashes.  There, 
in  the  niche  of  the  wall,  skeleton,  lance,  and  armor 
had  remained  undisturbed  from  the  23d  of  November, 
A.D.  79,  when  the  city  was  overwhelmed  by  the  ashes 
and  showers  of  dust  from  Vesuvius,  till  the  20th  of 
April,  1794,  when  the  niche  and  its  contents  were  laid 
bare  in  the  process  of  excavation.  The  story  of  this 
sentinel,  thus  faithful  to  duty  unto  death,  appeals 
powerfully  and  directly  to  the  imagination,  and  has 
been  taken  as  the  subject  of  an  impressive  design 
for  sculpture.  Miss  Hosmer,  the  favorite  pupil  of 
Gibson,  already  well  known  in  this  country  by  her 
Puck,  her  Zenobia,  her  Beatrice  Cenci,  and  other 
works  exhibited  at  the  Royal  Academy  and  Inter- 
national Exhibitions,  has  modelled  a  colossal  figure 
of  this  faithful  Pompeiian  legionary,  now  exhibiting 
for  a  few  days  at  Mr.  Martin  Colnaghi's  Gallery  in 
the  Haymarket.  The  figure  is  eight  feet  in  height, 
clad  in  helmet  and  corselet  of  bronze  plates  modelled 
after  the  originals,  leaning  upon  his  lance  in  vain 
resistance  to  the  deadening  influence  of  the  sulphur- 
ous fumes  of  the  falling  dust  and  ashes.  His  eyes 
are  already  closed.  The  blood  in  his  veins  thickens 
and  runs  slow.  Looking  at  the  figure  in  profile,  we 
see  that  he  already  staggers  and  can  scarce  sustain 
himself  by  aid  of  his  lance,  hard  clutched  and  pressed 
as  a  point  of  support  against  his  knee.  Besides  his 
helmet  and  corselet  he  wears  only  a  short  tunic  and 
sandals,  showing  the  instep  and  toes,  so  that  the  limbs 
are  freely  displayed,  and  there  is  at  once  the  least 
possible  concealment  of  the  figure  and  the  least  pos- 
sible advantage  derived  from  drapery. 

The  perfect  simplicity  and  sincerity  of  the  treat- 
ment give  to  Miss  Hosmer's  design  the  impressive- 
ness  which  befits  its  subject.  Under  the  paramount 
sense  of  soldierly  duty,  the  thews  and  sinews  of  the 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  249 

strong  sentinel  are  braced  to  resist  the  stupefying 
vapors  which  are  beginning  to  overpower  sense  and 
strength.  He  has  closed  his  eyes,  apparently,  more 
to  aid  the  concentration  of  his  powers  than  to  exclude 
sights  of  horror,  which  through  that  thick  cloud  of 
falling  ashes  could  hardly  have  been  within  his  ken. 
The  muscles  of  his  limbs  are  in  strong  tension,  the 
bones  firmly  set,  giving  emphasis  to  the  imj)ression 
that  the  man's  energies  are  bent  up  to  their  very 
utmost.  It  is  a  worthy  embodiment  of  duty  in  face 
of  death.  Without  any  intention  of  left-handed  com- 
pliment, it  deserves  to  be  called  a  masculine  work, 
grave,  earnest,  and  energetic,  without  contortion,  ef- 
fort, or  sense  of  over-strain.  ...  In  these  days,  when 
so  much  is  thought  or  said  about  woman's  work,  it  is 
a  satisfaction  to  call  attention  to  the  creation  of  a 
woman  who  has  not  merely  held  her  own,  but  taken 
high  rank  among  the  sculptors  of  her  time  .  .  .  and 
has  in  the  course  of  her  career  fully  justified  the  in- 
terest she  at  once  inspired  in  that  pure  and  simple 
man  and  single-minded  artist,  John  Gibson,  from  her 
first  introduction  to  him  as  '  an  aspiring  and  high- 
couraged  young  American  girl,  with  a  passionate 
vocation   for  sculpture.'  " 


TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 
T^  Ttr       r^  ASHRIDGE,  Nov.  1867. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

First  of  all  let  me  say  that  I  am  taking  the  revolu- 
tion in  Rome  very  easy  here,  and  am  not  sorry  to  have 
an  excuse  for  prolonging  my  stay  this  side  the  Chan- 
nel. But  letters  have  come  now  from  the  seat  of 
former  war,  and  I  find  there  is  no  sound  reason  why 
I  should  longer  absent  myself  from  my  post,  and  I 
am  off.  The  next  time  I  shall  date  from  Paris,  en 
route  to  the  clay  pit.     I  have  a  letter  from  Ercole, 


250  HARRIET  HOSMER 

my  studio,  house,  and  stable  are  intact,  nothing  taken 
possession  of,  but  one  of  my  men,  a  blocker-out,  was 
going  up  the  Via  Tritone  when  a  bomb  exploded  and 
injured  his  right  hand  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  have 
the  middle  finger  cut  off.  Then  John,  my  valiant 
groom,  was  set  upon  by  two  men  as  he  was  going 
home  one  evening,  and  robbed  and  stabbed,  but  for- 
tunately the  dagger  went  through  his  coat  only. 

I  paused  a  bit,  hearing  all  this,  but  now,  with  the 
French,  order  has  returned.  As  for  the  Pope,  he 
was  never  so  strong  as  now,  and  the  papal  troops, 
whom  it  was  the  fashion  to  laugh  at,  have  shown 
themselves  valiant  soldiers  and  have  made  themselves 
respected.  As  for  the  Romans,  they  were  more  loyal 
than  the  world  gave  them  credit  for  being,  or  else 
were  afraid  their  "  season  "  would  be  spoiled,  I  don't 
know  which.  In  return  for  their  loyalty,  they  will 
have  a  tremendous  rush  this  winter,  everybody  will 
be  wanting  to  see  where  these  events  transpired.  So 
much  for  Roman  politics. 

I  am  glad  you  like  "  Hosmer  and  her  men."  *  I 
did  it  by  way  of  a  joke,  but  it  has  had  a  great  success, 
and  I  don't  know  how  many  photographs  I  might 
have  given  away  if  I  had  had  them. 

Last  Sunday  I  was  at  the  Zoological  gardens,  cran- 
ing at  lions,  when  I  felt  a  hand  laid  on  my  shoulder 
and  thought  that  I  must  have  been  baiting  the  bear 
unbeknownst,  and  that  the  policeman  had  come  to  ar- 
rest me;  but  on  turning  round  I  discovered  Mr.  Story, 
who  had  come  to  England  to  model  the  statue  of 
George  Peabody.  Mr.  Peabody  is  a  very  good  sub- 
ject, but  oh,  the  modern  costume,  I  do  not  envy  him! 
I  happened  to  have  my  letter  from  Rome,  the  first 
for  a  month,  which  I  read  to  him,  the  first  news  he 
had  had  for  weeks.  Yours    H. 

*  A    photograph    of    Miss    Hosmer    in    her    studio,    surrounded    by    her 
workmen. 


o 


w 

Q 

o 

< 


••♦«..  .'Ufc. 


•f^ 


♦■*, 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  251 

Upon  going  to  London,  Miss  Hosmer  found  it 
inadvisable  to  continue  her  journey  to  Rome.  She 
was  summoned  back  to  Ashridge  by  Lady  Marian 
Alford  and,  with  characteristic  jokes  and  nonsense, 
she  thus  responded: 


THE  LOST  BALLAD  OF  THE  MELON-COLORED 

MAID. 

I. 

Fierce  howled  the  blast,  the  wainscot  shook, 
The  casement  rattled  in  the  gale, 
While  like  arrows  thick  and  fast 
Came  deadly  sheets  of  blinding  hail. 


XL 

Far  flashed  the  lightning,  and  in  twain 
The  starry  vault  of  Heaven  was  rent; 
Far  boomed  the  thunder,  waking  all 
The  echoes  of  the  firmament. 


IIL 

Thick  darkness  reigned — the  forest  trees, 
Uprooted,  prone  in  dust  were  laid, 
Yet  all  unmoved,  unheeding  sat 
The  melon-colored  maid — 


VI. 

Thrice  muttered  she,  and  thrice 
She  stroked  her  pallid  cheeks. 
E'en  in  her  woe  observant  of 
The  number  of  the  Greeks. 


1 

253  HARRIET  HOSMER 

VII. 

Then  slowly  oped  the  portal, 
And  shuddered  all  dismayed, 
The  trusty  menial,  to  behold 
The  melon-colored  maid — 

VIII. 

Yet  stirred  she  not,  the  maiden, 
Nor  even  twirled  a  thumb, 
But  when  she  spake,  from  other  worlds 
The  accents  seemed  to  come. 

IX. 

"  My  faithful  Kuhl,*  because  I  know 
That  very  Kuhl  you  are, 
I  prithee  fetch  the  carving  knife 
And  cleave  my  jugular; 


No  longer  can  I  bear  against 

This  crushing  weight  of  woe. 

The  rails  are  blocked,  the  Dilly's  stopped, 

To  Rome  we  may  not  go. 

XI. 

And  there,  alas !  my  helpless  babes 
No  mother's  face  shall  view! 
Who  aids  them  now,  of  me  bereft.'* 
The  youngest  thirty-two !  " 


XIV. 

"  Arouse  thee,  gracious  lady, 
Some  missive  I  have  here. 
Mayhap  I  bring  a  little  ray 
Of  comfort  and  good  cheer." 

*The   German   maid. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  253 


XV. 


"  Now  out  upon  thee,  woman ! 
And  leave  me  as  I  am. 
How  dare'st  thou,  minion,  bring  to  me 
Another  telegram? 


5» 


XVI. 

"  Methinks,  my  gracious  lady, 
This  is  unlike  the  rest; 
It  bears  the  postmark  Grantham, 
And  M.  A.  and  a  crest." 

XVII. 

"  Ha !   say'st  thou,  faithful  Kuhly, 
And  dost  thou  truly  tell.'* 
And  dost  thou  see  it  is  a  crest. 
And  can'st  thou  rightly  spell?  " 


XIX. 

And  then  with  trembling  hand 
The  document  she  tore. 
And  as  she  read  she  looked  around 
As  pleased  as  sad  before. 


XXI. 

"  Now  blessed  be  all  the  Dillys, 
The  babes  may  '  go  to  pot ! ' 
My  lady  bids  me  hie  to  her 
And,  Kuhl,  why  should  we  not?  " 

XXII. 

When  spake  the  maid,  "  If,  Madame,  you 
Excuse  the  place  I'm  in, 
Nor  show  just  cause  why  I  should  not, 
A  somerset  I'll  spin." 


254i  HARRIET  HOSMER 

XXIII. 

"  Good  Kuhl,"  quoth  she,  "  I  do  admire 
The  spirit  you  have  shown, 
And  by  the  great  Saint  Vitus 
You  shall  not  spin  alone." 

XXIV. 

Whereat,  but  quicker  than 
By  lightning  trees  are  rent, 
They  both  began  a-spinning 
And  heels  o*er  head  they  went. 

XXV. 

The  feathers  flew,  the  dust  up-heaved, 
Ne'er  vigor  was  displayed 
Like  that  which  suddenly  inspired 
The  melon-colored  maid. 

XXVI. 

The  clock  struck  twelve,  the  carpet  all 
In  shreds  was  in  the   air; 
Still  on  they  spun  without  a  thought 
Of  pausing  anywhere. 

XXVII. 

The  distant  cock  with  windpipe  shrill 
Crowed  out  the  hour  of  three ; 
The  bats  looked  in  and  cried,  "  Look  out ! 
What  whirring   can   that  be.''" 

XXVIII. 

The  morning  dawned,  but  never  sun 
Lit  up  so  strange  a  scene, 
Three  little  mounds  of  dust  revealed 
Where  furniture  had  been. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  255 

XXIX. 

Naught  else  remained,  the  field  was  clear, 
Triumphant  spun  the  two ; 
The  higher  shone  the  orb  of  day, 
The  faster  still  they  flew. 

XXX. 

At  last  paused  she,  the  maiden, 

And  spake,  but  scarce  betrayed 

That  weight  of  sorrow  which  had  crushed 

The  melon-colored  maid. 

XXXI. 

But,  with  a  twinkle,  "  Kuhl,"  quoth  she, 
"  To  me  it  doth  appear. 
With  deference  to  the  Pope,  we've  had 
A  Revolution  here. 


XXXII. 

"  I  pause  for  I  bethink  myself 
The  post  leaves  here  at  three. 
But  spin  thou  on,  I  prithee. 
And  do  not  rise  for  me. 


XXXIII. 

"  I  pause  a  moment,  only 
The  better  to  begin 
Another  kind  of  spinning; 
A  little  yam  I'll  spin. 

XXXIV. 

And  may  the  gods  so  help  me. 
Such  skill  may  I  display, 
That  none  shall  say  my  yarn 
Was  worsted  in  the  fray." 


256  HARRIET  HOSMER 

XXXV. 

She  spake  and  poised  aloft 

Her  quill — then  let  it  drive 

With  force  gigantic  through — let's  see — 

Through  verses  thirty-five. 

And  here  they  are,  my  Lady, 
And  Saturday,  arrayed 
In  winks  and  cheery  blinks,  you'll  see 
The  melon-colored  maid- 
Eventually  the  artist  reached  Rome  and  wrote: 

^        „^     .-,  Rome,  Dec.  5,  1867. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

I  write  now  from  headquarters,  where  I  arrived 
a  week  ago,  and  have  already  got  into  the  traces  and 
draw  in  harness  just  as  if  I  had  never  been  away 
further  than  the  Obelisk  in  the  Piazza  Trinita.  We 
had  a  very  good  journey  from  Paris,  but  the  quantity 
of  snow  on  Mt.  Cenis  made  me  think  I  was  some- 
where in  the  region  of  my  own  native  land. 

I  am  going  on  with  my  Faun,*  and  haven't  felt  so 
well,  dear  me,  I  don't  know  when,  not  since  the  dear 
old  Lenox  days;  and  I  mean  to  do  a  deal  towards 
filling  my  studio  this  winter.  It  is  two  years  that 
I  haven't  been  very  prolific,  that  is,  in  results  to  show 
at  the  present  moment.  I  found  all  my  belongings 
in  first  rate  order  here,  and  have  settled  for  the  last 
outlay  I  make  in  Paris,  or  anywhere  else,  for  the 
furnishing  of  my  apartment. 

Gallant  t  is  in  splendid  condition,   and  N X 

and  I  have  had  a  whisk  over  rails,  this  afternoon,  get- 
ting ready  for  foxes.  On  Sunday  afternoon  we  pro- 
pose to  ride  to  Mentana,  to  see  where  the  Garibal- 
dians  were  gobbled  up.    People  are  beginning  to  drop 

*  The  Waking  Faun.  f  Her   hunter. 

X  The  American  consul,  Mr.  Cushman. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  257 

in,  but  forestieri  cannot  be  said  to  abound.  It  will 
be  a  late  season,  but  a  good  one,  if  the  French  stay  to 
ensure  tranquillity;  all  depends  upon  that.  They 
are  going,  but  no  further  than  Civita  Vecchia. 

Yours,  H. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Rome,  Jan.  1,  1868. 

First  of  all,  dear  Pater,  let  me  wish  you  the  hap- 
piest New  Year  that  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  mortals, 
and  in  number  more  than  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of 
mortals ! 

It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  written,  but  the 
truth  is  I  have  been  immersed  in  a  design  which  has 
bothered  me  not  a  little,  and  I  have  applied  myself 
to  it  with  the  true  Hosmer  and  bull-dog  pertinacity. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  I  have  accomplished  it  very  much  to 
my  satisfaction,  and  will  soon  send  you  a  drawing 
of  the  immortal  work.  Furthermore,  I  have  been 
doing  the  sociable.  General  P.  and  daughter  have 
been  here,  and  I  am  bound  to  be  civil  to  any  one  who 
comes  from  St.  Louis,  for  I  have  met  with  friendliness 
and  encouragement  from  there  as  from  nowhere  else. 
I  went  to  see  the  IVIotleys  the  other  night,  and  he, 
though  suffering  from  a  boil  on  his  neck,  insisted  upon 
coming  down  to  the  door  with  me.  "  Pray,"  said  I, 
"  don't  think  of  such  a  thing  as  coming  out  with 
your  boil."     "  Alas,"  said  he,   "  I  can't  come  with- 

^^*  ^*-"  •  •  •  Yours,  H. 

LADY  BLOOMFIELD  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Hotel  Costanzi,  Feb.  15,  18G8. 
Dear  Miss  Hosmer: 

Here  is  the  extract  which  I  promised  you.  I  hope 
it  will  give  you  pleasure  as  it  did  me,  showing  that 


258  HARRIET  HOSMER 

your  beautiful  statue  has  not  only  given  momentary 
pleasure,  but  left  a  lasting  impression  upon  a  highly 
cultivated  and  refined  mind.  That  you  may  long 
have  health  and  strength  to  work  is  the  sincere  wish  of 

Yours  most  truly, 

G.  Bloomfield. 

My  friend  says,  "  And  so  you  have  seen  Miss  Hos- 
mer!  Her  talent  must  be  wonderful,  and  so  far  as 
the  Sleeping  Faun  goes,  I  can  enter  into  it,  for 
the  statue  was  sent  over  to  the  Dublin  Exhibition  and 
delighted  us  all.  She  had  so  completely  embodied 
the  poetic  notion  of  a  Faun,  that  it  made  me  under- 
stand for  the  first  time  that  he  was  intended  to  be 
much  more  than  a  hobgoblin  of  the  forest.  She  gives 
her  beautiful  figure  the  delicate  charm  belonging  to 
a  lover  of  Nature.  The  small  pointed  ear  seemed 
ready  for  acute  and  distinguishing  perception,  and 
his  sleep  so  light  that  a  rustle  in  his  beloved  trees 
would  awaken  him.  But  how  dull  am  I,  to  explain 
what  you  have  been  seeing  yourself  so  lately;  it  is  only 
the  image  of  what  people  do,  when  they  are  constantly 
munching  at  crumbs  of  memory." 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

^        P  /     .  Rome,  Mar.  26,  1868. 

Although  a  day  after  the  fair,  this  is  to  wish  you 
many  happy  returns  of  your  birthday.  So  you  have 
reached  the  venerable  point  of  sixty.  I  used  to  think 
that  sixty  was  pretty  old,  but  not  being  so  young 
myself  as  I  was  when  I  was  born,  I  look  upon  sixty 
now  as  about  ten  years  this  side  of  the  prime  of  life. 
I  wish  I  could  model  such  statues  now  as  I  shall  be 
able  to  make  when  I  am  sixty.  One  has  all  one's 
experience  by  that  time,  and  head  enough  to  use  it 
to  the  best  advantage. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  259 

We  have  had  Admiral  Farragut  here,  and  he  is 
a  dear  old  fellow.  So  simple  and  bears  his  honors  so 
modestly.  I  dined  with  him  on  Saturday  last  at  Miss 
Cushman's.  Consul  Cusliman  had  presented  him  on 
the  same  day  to  the  Pope,  and  on  Monday  night  Mr. 
Hooker  gave  a  party  in  his  honor,  at  which  all  the 
world  and  his  wife  figured. 

I  must  tell  you  a  great  piece  of  news:  my  chande- 
lier, that  immortal  (but  until  now  invisible)  piece 
of  furniture,  has  not  only  turned  up,  but  has  re- 
mained up  forty-eight  hours  in  my  salone  and  I  must 
say  it  is  the  sweetest  thing  in  the  way  of  a  glim  that 
I  ever  did  see.  With  that,  my  furnishing  comes 
pretty  nearly  to  an  end,  thank  the  gods!  Next  year 
I  shall  begin  to  hoard  up,  having  furnished  my  studio, 
my  house,  and  my  stable. 

I  am  still  devoted  to  my  Faun,*  though  a  few 
days  more  will  see  him  cast.  He  goes  to  England 
to  Lady  Ashburton,  who  has  his  mate,  the  Sleep- 
ing Faun.  Did  I  tell  you  that  next  year  she  and 
I  are  going  to  get  up  an  artistic  little  exhibition 
of  both  the  Fauns,  and  have  them  seen  to  advantage? 
I  only  wish  they  were  ready  now,  but  somehow  or 
other  there  are  certain  things  that  will  take  their 
time  to  grow  and  blossom,  just  like  the  trees  and 
the  flowers.  Now  I  am  becoming  poetic  and  senti- 
mental, so  had  better  stop,  but  first  let  me  say 
that  Rogers  spent  sixteen  years  on  his  "  Italy " 
and  Gibbon  wrote  part  of  his  history  over  five 
times.  .  .  .  Yours,  H. 

No  record  of  the  artist's  life  would  seem  complete 
without  a  word  from  the  hand  of  the  friend  to  whom 
her  letters  are  mostly  written,  and  this  one  serves  to 
show  tlie  keen  and  sympathetic  interest  which  he  took 

*The  Waking  Faun. 


260  HARRIET  HOSMER 

in  everything  concerning  her  work,  and  the  enthusiasm 
which  helped  to  carry  her  on  to  better  things.  When 
her  monument  of  Benton  was  completed  and  sent  to 
St.  Louis  to  be  placed  in  Lafayette  Park,  Colonel 
Benton's  daughter,  Mrs.  Jessie  Benton  Fremont,  was 
invited  to  come  to  St.  Louis  to  unveil  it.  She  was 
accompanied  by  her  husband.  General  John  C.  Fre- 
mont, known  as  "  the  Pathfinder,"  from  his  early  ex- 
plorations in  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

Colonel  Benton  himself  had  acquired  the  name  of 
"  Old  Bullion "  because  of  his  persistent  condemna- 
tion for  thirty  years  (while  in  the  Senate)  of  paper 
currency  and  his  advocacy  of  gold  and  silver  as  a 
medium  of  exchange. 

WAYMAN  CROW  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

My  dear  Hatty:  ^^'  L«^^«'  ^ay  28,  1868. 

Hip!  hip!  hurrah!  "Old  Bullion"  is  on  his  feet 
at  last,  and  he  stands  magnificent!  Yesterday  was  a 
proud  day  for  St.  Louis,  a  proud  day  for  you,  and 
I  need  hardly  say  it  was  a  proud  day  for  me.  The 
weather  was  everything  to  be  desired,  combining 
spring  and  summer.  Lafayette  Park,  (some  forty 
acres  in  extent,)  is  almost  as  beautiful  as  the  Pare 
Moneeau  in  Paris,  and  was  in  full  spring  attire.  The 
day  opened  bright  and  glorious.  It  was  made  a 
general  holiday  throughout  the  city.  All  places  of 
business  were  closed,  and  flags  were  flying  on  the 
public  buildings,   as  on  many  private  houses. 

At  two  o'clock  I  called  in  my  carriage  for  Gen- 
eral and  Mrs.  Fremont  and  took  them  to  the  park, 
entering  the  grounds  just  before  three  o'clock,  the 
hour  set  for  the  opening  ceremonies.     The  city  is  full 


THE  vSTATUE  OF  THOMAS    II.    BENTON 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  261 

of  strangers,  and  the  crowd  was  so  great  that  the 
pohce  had  difficulty  in  making  a  way  for  us.  An 
aged  colored  man,  Ralph  Harrison,  who  was  a  body 
servant  of  Colonel  Benton's,  was  provided  with  a 
chair  near  the  platform.  The  ceremonies  proceeded 
as  reported  in  the  papers  which  I  am  mailing  to 
you.  When  the  speeches  were  over  I  escorted  IMrs. 
Fremont  to  the  base  of  the  statue,  she  touched  a 
silken  cord,  and  the  veil  fell,  revealing  the  monument. 
It  was  gracefully  done,  and  when  she  caught  sight  of 
her  father's  features  her  e\^es  filled  with  tears.  As  she 
stood  there  the  band  played  "  Hail  to  the  Chief," 
and  the  cannon  gave  thirty  salutes  in  honor  of  Ben- 
ton's thirty  j^ears  in  the  United  States  Senate.  The 
bronze  was  like  gold  and  the  afternoon  sun  equally 
bright,  with  a  background  of  blue  sky  hardly  to  be  ex- 
celled in  Italy.  When  the  gims  ceased  ]\Irs.  Fre- 
mont walked  slowly  around  the  statue,  viewing  it 
from  every  point,  the  police  keeping  the  crowd  back 
with  difficulty.  At  last  she  said,  "  I  was  prepared  to 
like  Miss  Hosmer's  w^ork,  but  this  surpasses  all  I 
had  expected;  she  has  caught  my  father's  very  ex- 
pression and  his  attitude."  She  approves  the  drapery 
and  says  he  wore  his  cloak  much  as  you  have  ar- 
ranged it.  She  begged  me  to  convey  to  you  her 
thanks  and  say  that  she  will  write  to  you.  General 
Fremont  said  the  statue,  "  as  a  work  of  art,  was  the 
best  one  he  had  seen  in  America."  At  six  o'clock 
our  carriage  was  brought  up  and  made  the  circuit  of 
the  monument  again.  oNIrs.  Fremont  in  parting 
kissed  her  hand  to  her  father,  and  both  she  and  the 
General  bowed  to  the  crowds  pressing  on  each  side 
as  we  drove  away. 

I  hear  from  others  to-day  that  the  universal  expres- 
sion of  opinion  was  favorable.  Old  friends  of  Ben- 
ton found  the  likeness  good  and  the  position  one  of 
his  own.    Of  course  the  criticisms  will  now  come,  but 


262  HARRIET  HOSMER 

with  Gibson's  letter  to  fortify  us  we  can  say,  "  Lay 
on,  Macduff."  By  the  way,  I  gave  Mrs.  Fremont 
the  autograph  letter  of  Mr.  Gibson. 

Now  let  us  leave  the  things  that  are  behind  and 
press  forward  to  those  that  are  before.  .  .  . 

Yours  truly, 

Wayman  Crow. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

T^        r,  ^  Rome,  June,  1868. 

Dear  Pater: 

To-day  I  learn  with  infinite  relief  how  well  the 
statue  of  Benton  has  been  received  in  St.  Louis. 
You  know  I  was  prepared  for  rubs.  Portrait  statues 
are  ticklish  things,  particularly  when  the  artist  is  bold 
enough  to  represent  a  modern  without  trousers,  sub- 
stituting drapery.  I  am  grateful  to  Miiller  for  put- 
ting my  work  into  such  beautiful  material.*  Now 
probably  this  very  day  another  ceremonyt  comes  off, 
the  result  of  a  deep  conspiracy  against  you.  I  little 
thought  the  time  would  ever  come  when  I  should 
conspire  against  you.  All  I  can  say  is,  that  the  bust 
ought  to  be  a  statue  and  that  statue  of  gold,  to  repay 
you  for  all  the  trouble  and  care  you  have  taken  for, 
and  of  me,  you,  my  best  friend.  Where  should  I 
have  been  without  you? 

Yours,  H. 

Miss  Hosmer  had  modelled  a  bust  of  Mr.  Crow, 
which  she  desired  should  be  a  complete  surprise  to 
him.  She  deputed  her  friend  Mr.  James  E.  Yeat- 
man  to  carry  out  all  the  details  of  its  presentation  to 
the  Washington  University  in  St.  Louis;  a  college 
founded  by  him,  and  whose  welfare  he  had  always 

*  Bronze. 

f  The  unveiling  in  St.  Louis  of  Miss  Hosmer's  bust  of  Wayman  Crow. 


Ant^U.FiHTr 


lT»  \*5--i.  ■■-«\T-.-i7v.-Tr-  -^^"J 


;^^'?E| 


Aj^ 


^_^^^/0'>^  '>~^ 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  263 

at  heart.    The  following  letter  describes  the  execution 
of  her  plans: 

MR.  YEATMAN  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

St.  Louis,  June  19,  1868. 
My  dear  Miss  Hosmer: 

You  may  now  write,  "  Veni,  Vidi,  Vici."  The 
day  has  passed,  the  bust  has  been  presented,  all  has 
gone  well.  Last  evening  the  commencement  exercises 
of  the  university  took  place,  and  the  giving  of  the 
diplomas.  There  had  been  an  alcove  built  on  the 
platform,  at  the  rear,  lined  with  crimson  brocade,  in 
which  the  pedestal  and  bust  had  been  placed  with 
crimson  curtains  in  front  to  conceal  it.  This  created 
no  suspicion,  but  was  thought  to  be  intended  as  a 
background  for  the  chancellor's  chair.  The  front 
seats  were  occui^ied  by  the  president  and  members 
of  the  board  of  trustees,  among  whom  was  Mr.  Crow, 
and  by  the  professors  of  the  university.  After  the 
speaking  was  over  and  the  diplomas  had  been  de- 
livered, the  chancellor  moved  his  chair  to  one  side,  a 
student  advanced  to  the  platform  and  drew  aside  the 
curtain  revealing  the  bust.  It  was  such  a  surprise 
that  it  was  received  with  a  burst  of  applause.  When 
it  ceased  I  arose  and  made  the  presentation.  Mr. 
Crow  was  the  most  surprised  man  of  them  all,  and 
I  may  also  say  the  most  gratified.  My  remarks  occu- 
pied less  than  five  minutes,  and  I  did  not  mention 
either  your  name  or  that  of  Mr.  Crow  till  the  very 
last,  when  they  were  received  with  a  round  of  long 
and  loud  cheers.  The  president.  Dr.  Eliot,*  made 
an  appropriate  reply,  accepting  the  gift  in  the  name 
of  the  college,  and  giving  its  history  and  its  arrival 
in  this  country  entirely  unknown  to  any  one  except  to 
himself  and  to  me.     So  you  see  your  instructions  have 

*  Rev.  Willi'im  G.  Eliot. 


264  HARRIET  HOSMER 

been  carried  out.  The  secrecy  and  non-formality 
added  greatly  to  the  interest  of  the  occasion,  and 
showed  that  you  were  an  artist  in  other  things  than 
sculpture.  There  were  many  pleasant  incidents  con- 
nected with  it.  Dr.  Eliot  referred  to  Mr.  Crow  as 
having  framed  the  wise  and  broad  charter,  and  to  his 
substantial  donation,  which  was  the  initial  one  in 
founding  the  university.  The  likeness  is  considered 
perfect,  and  I  must  congratulate  you  upon  its  suc- 
cess in  every  way.  I  have  written  you  thus  in  detail, 
as  I  know  you  will  be  waiting  to  hear.  .  .  . 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

James  E.  Yeatman. 

One  of  the  St.  Louis  journals  in  referring  to  the 
occasion,  said : 

*'  The  marble  bust  of  Wayman  Crow,  presented 
to  the  Washington  University  by  our  eminent  Ameri- 
can artist,  Harriet  Hosmer,  was  unveiled  last  evening 
in  presence  of  a  distinguished  gathering  of  those  con- 
nected with  the  college  and  interested  in  art.  Among 
them  were  Wayman  Crow  and  James  E.  Yeatman. 
Until  the  bust  was  unveiled  Mr.  Crow  had  no  knowl- 
edge of  it  and  his  pleasure  equalled  his  surprise.  The 
bust,  of  white  marble,  rests  upon  a  polished  pedestal 
of  a  darker  shade,  supported  by  a  carved  pediment, 
the  whole  rising  to  a  height  of  six  feet.  On  the 
base  of  the  bust  and  on  the  right  and  left  sides  of  it, 
respectively,  are  carved 

Wayman  Crow 

Rome  M.D.C.C.C.LXV— Tribute  of  Gratitude. 

Harriet  Hosmer  Sculpt. 

These  inscriptions  are  its  history,  in  them  the  epit- 
ome of  the  reason  which  moved  its  production.     The 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  265 

face  wears  a  calm  and  noble  expression,  a  look  full 
of  meaning,  an  indescribable  something  which  shows 
the  work  to  be  no  less  the  language  of  the  artist's 
heart,  than  a  faithful  likeness  of  her  friend." 


TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

T^        T^  .  England,  Adiscombe,  1868. 

You  see  I  flit  round  the  spheres  as  if  I  had  already 
shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil  and  had  taken  to  wings 
and  wet  clouds.  I  must  report  myself  from  the 
British  Isles,  though  I  have  nothing  to  write  but 
gossip  and  greeting.  For  the  first  time  since  my 
first  experience  of  the  Channel,  it  was  as  smooth  as 
a  lake.  And  here  I  have  been,  most  of  the  time  since 
last  JNIonday  at  the  prettiest,  cosiest  place,  belonging 
to  Lady  Ashburton,  within  driving  distance  of  Lon- 
don, where  I  am  doing  the  lazy  to  my  heart's  con- 
tent. I  was  going  to  write  you  yesterday,  to  secure 
to-day's  steamer,  but  this  must  wait  for  the  next  raft 
that  passes,  for  just  at  the  epistolary  juncture  Lady 
Marian  arrived  and  the  post  wouldn't  wait. 

While  seated  at  the  breakfast  table  this  morning 
a  letter  was  brought  to  me  beginning  "  dear  cousin," 
and  it  turned  out  to  be  from  Dr.  Henry  Bellows 
(the  Reverend).  I  copy  a  passage  which  bears  upon 
a  subject  near  to  both  of  our  hearts.  He  says,  "  Your 
letter  from  Paris  reached  me  yesterday,  and  before 
I  am  twenty-foiu'  hours  older  I  want  to  say  that  I 
think  nothing  can  be  better  than  your  design  for  the 
Lincoln  Monument." 

Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  Mr.  Gibson?  In  the  be- 
ginning he  was  immensely  pleased  at  my  competing, 
and  said,  "  Xow  if  any  objection  should  be  made  to 
your  receiving  the  commission  on  the  ground  of  j^our 
being  so  young  an  artist  and  a  woman,  I  will  guaran- 


266  HARRIET  HOSMER 

tee  them  that  the  execution  of  the  work  will  be  in 
every  respect  worthy  of  the  subject."  So  much  for 
one,  whose  judgment  and  taste  were  that  of  the  first 
sculptor  in  Rome.  I  did  not  know  how  far  the  acci- 
dental circumstance  of  my  being  a  woman  would 
favor  or  injure  my  cause.  I'll  leave  that  for  you 
to  determine,  as  also  how  far  I  would  exert  myself, 
in  the  event  of  my  being  the  favored  one,  to  justify 
your  confidence  in  me  to  produce  a  work  of  art  of 
which  I  should  not  be  ashamed. 

Yours,  H. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Loch  Luichart,  Scotland,  Oct.  1868. 
Dear  Pater: 

Coming  from  an  excursion  I  find  your  welcome 
letter.  I  am  sure  that  England  is  the  place  for  being 
set  up,  and  Scotland  is  still  better.  I  am  up  here  at 
the  jumping  off  place,  and  you  would  think  it  winter 
if  you  could  put  your  nose  among  these  hills.  I  shall 
stay  another  ten  days  and  then  meander  south  to 
London,  dropping  in  by  the  way  upon  several  friends 
who  are  holding  out  their  hospitable  arms  to  catch 
me.  I  am  staying  with  Lady  Ashburton,  having 
come  last  night  from  Coulin,  Lord  Warwick's  beau- 
tiful Highland  home.  They  are  just  returning  to 
Warwick  Castle,  it  having  been  put  in  readiness  for 
them  after  the  fire.  Here  we  have  a  truly  jolly 
party.  Lady  Marian  arrived  last  night,  and  Lord 
Brownlow  (her  son)  was  already  here  with  divers 
others,  and  people  are  coming  and  going  all  the  while, 
so  we  have  great  variety.  .  .  .  You  should  be  here  to 
eat  some  trout  out  of  the  lake,  fresh  every  morning, 
so  fresh  that  you  can  almost  feel  them  wriggle  down 
your  throat.     Then  the  grouse  season  has  begun,  and 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  267 

there  are  plenty  of  birds.     This  is  indeed  the  land  of 
plenty  as  well  as  of  beauty.  .  .  . 

In  spite  of  the  weather  the  air  is  delicious,  and  so 
are  the  peat-water  baths. 

Yours,  H. 

TO  MISS  DUNDAS. 

Paris,  Tuesday,  Nov.  1868. 


My  dear  A : 

.  .  .  To-morrow  we  take  real  wings  for  Italy.  We 
have  been  dawdling  here  for  divers  necessary  and 
what  seemed  liwnecessary  reasons.  Our  respective 
maids  and  our  irrespective  luggage  have  gone  on,  and, 
if  all  goes  well,  will  speedily  be  in  Rome.  Having 
been  outwardly  disturbed  and  inwardly  tossed  by  a 
hateful  passage  across  the  Channel,  I  put  my  foot 
down  first  upon  the  toe  and  then  upon  the  heel,  that 
I  would  stick  to  the  land,  for  one,  between  here  and 
Rome.  I  trust  it  is  in  consequence  of  my  ever  lumi- 
nous example  that  Miss  Cushman  has  decided  upon 
the  same  way,  which  is  over  Mt.  Cenis,  and  therefore 
we  shall  be  some  little  time  in  getting  to  our  journey's 
end.  Then  we  shall  stop  in  Florence  a  couple  of  days 
which  will  bring  us  into  the  twenties,  quite  forestieri- 
like  and  not  like  an  artist. 

Good-by,  and  hold  me,        ^ours  ever,  jj 

The  methods  of  bargain  and  sale,  forty  or  fifty 
years  ago,  on  the  Continent,  are  well  remembered 
by  travellers  of  that  day,  so  this  letter  will  seem 
familiar.  A  friend,  upon  leaving  Rome,  had  asked 
Miss  Hosmer  to  make  some  purchases  for  her,  offer- 
ing a  price  less  than  a  very  exorbitant  one  which 
had  been  demanded  of  her;  and  Miss  Hosmer  writes: 


368  HARRIET  HOSMER 

•My  dear  friend:  '^^'  N"^'  '^^^^- 

I  am  sure  you  will  be  as  much  amused  as  I  am,  to 
know  that  I  have  been  able  to  execute  all  your  com- 
missions at  your  own  price;  such,  however,  is  the  fact, 
decided  only  yesterday.  Old  Minetti  was  difficult 
to  manipulate.  The  three  interviews  before  the  de- 
sired result  was  obtained  would  have  diverted  you. 
The  first  was  when  I  made  him  your  offer,  it  was 
pretty  to  see  his  indignation.  Did  Miladi  mean  to 
insult  him  by  offering  just  one-half  his  price?  Did 
I,  the  Sigiiorina  who  knew  him  so  well,  suppose 
for  an  instant  that  he  could  take  one  price  when  he 
had  named  another?  His  face  became  quite  a  psy- 
chological curiosity  when  I  told  him  it  was  precisely 
because  I  knew  him  so  well,  that  I  had  made  the 
offer;  the  offer  of  £20  for  the  frame  and  little  cabinet, 
was  a  still  deeper  insult!  I  then  saw  clearly  that  a 
colpa  would  ensue  if  I  prolonged  the  conversation,  so 
explosive  was  his  wrath,  and  I  departed,  quite  en- 
couraged, for  in  general,  you  may  set  it  down  as  a 
rule,  in  the  Roman  States,  that  the  more  ungovern- 
able the  rage,  the  greater  is  the  probability  of  final 
concession.  Fortunately  I  was  negotiating  for  a 
pezzetto  for  myself,  which  gave  me  the  opportunity 
of  repeating  my  visit  in  a  few  days,  when  I  imagined 
mental  equilibrium  might  be  restored.  On  my  part, 
no  allusion,  however  remote,  was  made  to  cabinets, 
although  he  had  very  speedily  taken  occasion  to  un- 
cover it.  I  ignored  its  very  existence,  transacted  my 
business,  and  had  said  "  Addio,  Minetti,"  when,  not 
being  able  to  see  me  depart  without  airing  a  subject 
so  dear  to  his  soul,  he  mildly  insinuated  that  he  might 
take  £800  for  it,  to  which  observation  I  deigned  no 
reply,  and  drove  off.  The  next  morning,  however,  he 
sent  to  know  if  I  would  see  him  on  a  subject  of 
importanza;  to  which  I,  knowing  it  is  fatal  to  display 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  269 

any  degree  of  eagerness  in  business  transactions,  re- 
sponded, no,  but  I  would  come  to  his  magazzino  in  a 
day  or  two.  So  yesterday  I  went,  and  in  the  blandest 
of  tones  he  informed  me  "  if  Miladi  would  make  a 
piccolo  crescimento  she  might  have  the  three  things." 
"  Not  a  cresciinento  of  an  ovibra  of  a  hijocco,"  said 
I,  still  more  blandly,  at  which,  with  more  words  and 
gestures  than  we  could  squeeze  into  a  year  of  ordinary 
conversation,  he  concluded  you  should  have  them 
for  £520,  and  that,  I  think,  is  fair.  Now  I  have 
faithfully  reported  the  whole  story.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 


CHAPTER  IX 

1869-1871 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  ^^^^'  J^^"  ^'  ^^^^' 

I  am  making  a  statue  of  the  Queen  of  Naples.  I 
don't  know  that  you  ever  saw  that  photograph  of  her 
with  a  cloak  wrapped  about  her,  called  the  Gaeta 
costume?  She  came  to  me  the  other  day  dressed 
exactly  as  she  was  then,  spur  and  all.  It  will  make 
an  interesting  statue,  for  the  subject  is  invested  with 
so  much  that  is  historic.  I  forgot  to  say  there  is  a 
pile  of  cannon  balls  at  her  feet,  and  upon  them  I 
shall  get  her  to  write  her  name  and  Gaeta  and  the 
year.  The  costume  is  perfectly  classic,  and  she  is  so 
beautiful  and  artistic  looking  that  she  lends  herself 
wonderfully  to   art. 

I  have  been  thoroughly  dissipated  for  the  last  fort- 
night, a  succession  of  dinners  has  been  going  on, 
and  the  wonder  is  how  the  poor  frail  stomach  can 
endure  all  that  is  put  upon  it.  Its  yoke  may  be  easy, 
but  its  burden  is  not  always  light.  Mine,  thanks  to 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  and  my  own, 
rises,  as  Benton  has  it,  "  to  equal  the  occasion." 
Among  the  people  here  are  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Childs  of 
Philadelphia.  They  gave  the  most  magnificent  dinner 
at  the  "  Europa  "  last  Tuesday  that  I  have  ever  seen 
anywhere.  It  was  gorgeous,  profuse,  and  sumptuous. 
Last  night  they  dined  with  me.  I  had  the  Long- 
fellows  to  meet  them,  the  H's  and  the  A's  of  Boston. 

270 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  271 

I  christened  my  salone  upon  the   occasion,   and  all 
declared  it  the  loveliest  of  rooms.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

The  following  extract  is  taken  from  a  letter  writ- 
ten by  a  friend  in  Rome  at  about  this  time: 

"  I  think  the  public  will  pronounce  that  Miss  Hos- 
mer  has  succeeded  in  giving  elegance  and  grace  to  a 
modern  dress,  in  a  life-sized  statue  of  the  beautiful 
Queen  of  Naples.  The  costume  is  that  actually  worn 
by  the  unfortunate  queen  during  the  siege  of  Gaeta. 
It  is  a  riding-habit  nearly  concealed  by  a  large 
cloak,  the  ample  folds  of  which  adapt  themselves  to 
the  sculptor's  purpose  quite  as  well  as  any  ancient 
drapery.  The  pose  of  the  Queen  is  erect  and  slightly 
defiant,  defiance  less  of  the  foe  than  of  the  danger 
and  death  that  surround  her.  While  the  right  hand 
rests  upon  the  folds  of  the  cloak,  where  it  is  thrown 
across  the  breast  and  shoulder,  the  other  points  down- 
ward, to  the  cannon  balls  that  lie  at  her  feet.  The 
head,  surrounded  by  a  splendid  coronet  of  hair,  is 
slightly  thrown  back.  It  is  well  known  in  Rome 
that  during  the  Queen's  residence  here,  she  was  a 
frequent  visitor  to  Miss  Hosmer's  studio,  and  sat 
many  times  for  the  statue,  thus  adding  the  value  of 
a  perfect  likeness  to  a  noble  work  of  art.  It  is  an 
extremely  handsome  head,  somewhat  disdainful  and 
breathing  the  utmost  firmness  and  resolution.  The 
Queen's  hair  is  celebrated  for  its  length  and  sable 
beauty;  when  she  lets  it  fall,  she  might  drape  herself 
with  it  like  Godiva.  Massed  in  a  bold,  broad  braid 
about  her  brow,  it  forms  a  natural  crown  more  beau- 
tiful than  goldsmith's  skill  could  supply.  In  the 
statue  it  has  the  effect  of  a  diadem,  while  the  rich 
folds  and  tassels  of  the  cloak  might  be  taken,  without 
any  stretch  of  imagination,  for  a  royal  robe.     Royal 


272  HARRIET  HOSMER 

indeed  she  was  at  Gaeta,  immovable  under  the  deadly 
shower  of  Cialdini's  shells,  more  than  at  any  other 
moment  of  her  short  and  hapless  reign;  and  the  sculp- 
tor has  had  a  happy  idea  in  placing  for  sole  inscrip- 
tion, '  Gaetae  Maria  Regina.'  Of  the  riding  habit, 
only  the  part  nearest  the  throat  is  seen,  and  a  small 
portion  of  the  skirt  below  the  folds  of  the  cloak.  A 
slender,  nervous  foot,  broadened  by  the  firmness  of 
the  tread,  is  in  advance,  and  the  braid  and  lacings 
of  the  modern  bottine  are  so  arranged  as  to  give  it  al- 
most the  appearance  of  a  sandal  and  harmonize  it 
with  the  remainder  of  the  costume.  The  work  vindi- 
cates at  a  glance  the  high  reputation  of  the  artist,  and 
bids  fair  to  be  her  masterpiece." 

Miss  Hosmer's  great  friendship  with  the  Queen 
of  Naples  perhaps  drew  her  attention  more  interest- 
edly to  all  that  was  artistic  in  her  family,  and  in 
writing  of  three  of  the  Bavarian  kings  whom  she  had 
known,  she  said: 

"  No  sovereigns  of  modern  times,  perhaps,  have 
influenced  art  in  a  manner  more  direct  and  personal 
than  have  Ludwig  I.  and  Ludwig  II.  The  city  of 
Munich  is  a  worthy  monument  to  the  old  artist  King, 
Ludwig  I.  He  it  was  who  caused  to  be  erected  many 
of  its  finest  buildings  and  its  art  galleries,  and  who 
enriched  them  with  gems  of  painting  and  sculpture. 
He  it  was  who  established  the  great  bronze  foundry 
which  at  one  time  was  regarded  as  the  finest  in  the 
world,  and  he  fostered  art  by  generously  aiding  all 
artists  in  whom  he  recognized  talent.  More  artist 
than  statesman.  King  Ludwig  was  never  so  happy  as 
during  his  frequent  visits  to  Rome,  when  his  beauti- 
fully situated  villa,  at  that  time  a  possession  of  the 
Bavarian  crown,  became  a  centre  for  those  who  cared 
for    and   appreciated   art.      More    than    once   was    I 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  273 

invited  to  share  these  symposia  when  he  exhibited 
with  delighted  pride  some  new  art  treasure  which 
he  had  unearthed  during  his  rambles  about  Rome. 
Not  unfrequently  his  Majesty  honored  me  with  a 
visit  in  my  studio;  on  one  occasion  bringing  and  read- 
ing to  me  an  original  poem,  for  the  king  was  some- 
thing of  a  poet  too,  and  wrote  very  pretty  verse;  in- 
deed, I  have  known  even  a  Poet  Laureate  write 
worse.  Most  interesting,  too,  was  his  conversation 
touching  upon  all  topics  save  politics.  I  well  re- 
member a  talk  upon  the  well-worn  subject  of  the 
relative  difficulties  of  painting  and  sculpture,  in  which 
he  maintained  that  the  art  we  love  best  appears  to  us 
the  most  difficult,  because  therein  are  we  most  critical 
and  fastidious;  a  very  good  argument. 

His  successor.  King  Max,  possessed  few  of  the 
qualities  which  attract  artists.  He  visited  my  studio 
when  in  Rome,  but  I  remember  little  of  him.  Lud- 
wig  II.,  that  weird  figure  in  history,  artist,  poet, 
above  all  musician,  to  whom,  by  reason  of  his  appre- 
ciation of  Wagner,  the  existence  of  '  the  music  of  the 
future,'  as  the  king  himself  designated  the  school, 
was  so  greatly  due — having  seen  the  young  king, 
I  associate  him  always  with  the  verses  of  the  folk-lore, 
lore  he  loved  so  well.  His  lithe  and  graceful  figure, 
his  charm  of  manner,  his  pleasant  voice,  his  handsome 
face,  recalling  much  of  the  beauty  of  his  distinguished 
cousin,  the  Queen  of  Naples,  all  these  outward  gifts 
he  possessed  in  supreme  degree.  Clothe  him  in  the 
shining  garb  of  a  Lohengrin,  and  without  further 
metamorphosis  we  have  the  ideal  hero  of  romance. 
And  like  a  true  hero  of  romance  and  a  dreamer,  as 
he  was,  he  loved  to  steal  away  from  the  outer  world 
and  live  apart  in  a  world  of  his  own.  We  can  pic- 
ture to  ourselves  that  lone  auditor  in  the  vast  theatre, 
sitting  in  solitary  state,  the  stage  ablaze  with  lights 
and  all  else  in  darkness,  for  it  was  a  common  occur- 


274.  HARRIET  HOSMER 

rence  for  the  king  to  command  the  performance  of  an 
opera  for  himself  alone.  Or  we  can  fancy  him  lying 
in  that  lone  boat,  floating  wheresoever  the  winds 
listed,  upon  the  fateful  Starnburg  See.  Or  we  catch 
a  glimpse  of  that  fantastic,  gilded  chariot,  wild  and 
weird,  plunging  through  the  snow  in  the  dead  of 
night,  '  like  a  shooting  star,'  as  it  has  been  well 
described,  the  king  its  solitary  tenant.  Strange  fan- 
cies these,  truly,  fancies  which  cost  him  his  throne. 
But  whatever  were  his  shortcomings  as  a  ruler,  and 
they  appear  to  have  been  many,  just  as  Ludwig  I. 
fostered  the  arts  of  painting  and  sculpture,  so  is  the 
world  of  music  indebted  in  like  degree  to  Ludwig 
II.  All  the  world  knows  of  his  friendship  for  and 
his  belief  in  Wagner.  He  it  was  who  enabled  Wag- 
ner to  pursue  his  studies  untrammelled  by  financial 
anxieties;  who,  at  his  own  expense,  placed  upon  the 
stage  the  great  works  for  rehearsal,  and  who  was  con- 
tent to  share  the  ridicule  which  at  that  time  attached 
to  Wagner's  name.  Nor  is  it  possible  to  resist  the 
thought,  that  as  he  supplied  Wagner  with  means  to 
complete  his  works,  so  his  own  romantic  personality, 
his  beauty  of  face  and  figure,  his  kingly  presence, 
supplied  the  model  for  more  than  one  of  the  great 
master's   striking  and   fascinating   impersonations. 

The  name  of  the  young  king  has  now  passed  into 
history,  and  his  memory,  linked  in  sympathy  with  that 
of  his  artist  ancestor,  Ludwig  I.,  will  be  cherished, 
not  as  that  of  statesman,  but  as  of  one  who  loved 
and  fostered  the  gentler  arts.  He  was  beloved  in 
spite  of  his  eccentricities,  of  his  lavish  expenditures, 
and  his  disregard  of  kingly  duties.  And  after  the 
terrible  tragedy,  as  his  body  lay  in  state,  his  people 
gazed  through  tears  upon  their  dead  king  who  pre- 
ferred death  to  the  doom  which  he  foresaw." 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  275 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 

j^       ^  Rome,  Sep.  1869. 

Oh,  I  have  just  had  a  document.  Browning's  last 
unpublished  poem!  It  seems  that  the  Storys,  Mr. 
Browning  and  his  sister  (Sarianna),  Lady  Marian 
Alford,  and  Sir  Roderick  Murchison,  all  found  them- 
selves staying  with  Lady  Ashburton  at  her  place  in 
Scotland,  so  they  got  up  a  Round  Robin,  written  by 
Browning,  which  was  despatched  to  me.     Here  it  is: 

Loch  Luichart,  Dingwall,  N.  B. 

Dear  Hosmer;  or  still  dearer,  Hatty — 

Mixture  of  imele  and  of  latte. 

So  good  and  sweet  and — somewhat  fatty — 

Why  linger  still  in  Rome's  old  glory 
When  Scotland  lies  in  cool  before  ye? 
Make  haste  and  come ! — quoth  Mr.  Story. 

Sculpture  is  not  a  thing  to  sit  to 
In  summertime ;  do  find  a  fit  toe 
To  kick  the  clay  aside  a  bit — oh, 
Yield  to  our  prayers !  quoth  Mrs.  Ditto. 

Give  comfort  to  us  poor  and  needy 
Who,  wanting  you,  are  waiting  greed}'' 
Our  meat  and  drink,  yourself,  quoth  Edie. 

Nay,  though  past  clay,  you  chip  the  Parian, 
Throw   chisel   down !  quoth  Lady   Marian. 

Be  welcome,  as  to  cow — the  fodder-rick ! 
Excuse  the  simile ! — quoth  Sir  Roderick. 


Say  not  (in  Scotch)  "  in  troth  it  canna  be 
But,  honey,  milk  and,  indeed,  manna  be! 
Forgive  a  stranger! — Sarianna  B. 


»> 


276  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Don't  set  an  old  acquaintance  frowning, 
But  come  and  quickly !  quoth  R.  Browning, 
For  since  prodigious  fault  is  found  with  you, 
I — that  is,  Robin — must  be  Round  with  you. 

P.  S. 

Do  wash  your  hands,  or  leave  the  dirt  on, 
But  leave  the  tool  as  Gammer  Gurton 
Her  needle  lost, — Lady  Ashburton 
Thus  ends  this  letter — ease  my  sick  heart. 
And  come  to  my  divine  Loch  Luichart ! 

W.  W.  Story,  his  mark  X. 
Emelyn  Story, 
Edith  Marion  Story, 
M.  Alford. 
Signatures  of     In  order  of  infraposition 

I  am,      Roderick  Murchison, 
Sarianna  Browning, 
Robert  Browning, 
L.  Ashburton. 
Sept.  5th,  1869. 

Miss    Hosmer,   with   her   well   known   playfulness, 
replied : 

My  eight  beloved  friends:  ^om^. 

They  think  perchance,  those  loving  friends 

Who  made  that  lucky  hit. 
That  though  stuck  fast  in  Roman  clay 

I  do  not  care  a  bit. 

Had  I  the  pinions  of  the  dove 

Of  which  the  poets  sing. 
How  quickly  would  I  flee  away 

And  cut  a  pigeon  wing. 

To  say,  I  breathless   revel  in 

My  occurrent  glory. 
Is  what,  good  lack,  my  William,  is 

A  truly  precious  Story. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  277 

Or  willing  paddle  in  the  sea 

For  numerous  friends  of  mine 
When  wailing  cry  out,  eight  of  them, 

To  send,  to  'Em-a-line. 


I  know  that  house  as  well  as  church 
Is  full,  laws  me,  of  tiede  * 

Now  all  day,  enough  to  make 
One's  very  mustard  s'Edie. 


Believe  me  if  I  had  my  weigh 
Though  Fortune  is  a  chary  'un 

The  scales  I'd  turn,  to  take  in  turn, 
A  turn  with  Lady  Marian. 


You  don't  believe  it,  do  I  hear? 

You  don't  believe  it  true. 
Well  then  if  some  among  you  doubt 

Just  see  Sir  Roderick  Dhu. 


Alas  such  bliss,  such  earthly  bliss 

Is  not  in  store  for  me, 
I  weep  hot  tears,  that  it  may  not 

My  Sarianna  B . 

Tell  him  who  stole  my  early  love 
And  while  these  tears  abound 

Rob'  erst  by  name,  to  cherish  me 
As  he  goes  Robin'  Round. 


And  tho'  fair  hostess,  though  it  seem 

I'm  seeming  to  be  ill. 
Yet  sight  of  thee  and  of  thy  Loch 

Would  make  me  Chubbier  still. 


*  Warmth. 


278  HARRIET  HOSMER 

It  may  not  be — may  not — alas 

Is  the  refrain  I  sing, 
Yet  comforts  me  this  fling  at  thee, 

This  little  Highland  fling. 

Always,  my  eight  dear  friends, 

Your  very  lovingest, 

Sept.  13th,  1869.  ^'  ^'  ^' 

A  visitor  in  Rome  gives  another  studio  picture,  and 
writes : 

"  Miss  Hosmer's  studio  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
in  Rome.  On  entering  it  the  first  thing  which  attracts 
attention  is  a  large  fountain,  which  occupies  the  centre 
of  the  room,  and  is  the  model  of  one  ordered  by 
Lady  Marian  Alford,  of  England,  which  now  adorns 
her  conservatory  in  London.  Two  side  rooms  open 
from  this  central  apartment,  and  all  three  are  lined 
with  the  graceful  works  which  have  made  their  author 
famous.  Puck  crouches  there,  the  very  embodiment 
of  diablerie;  his  graceful  form  seems  instinct  with  the 
subtle  spirit  of  nature's  life.  That  life  which  stirs  in 
every  rustling  leaf,  quivers  in  every  blade  of  grass, 
and  floats  in  every  changing  shadow.  It  was  Puck 
which  won  for  Miss  Hosmer  her  first  celebrity  in 
Europe;  its  originality  and  beauty  attracted  the  at- 
tention of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  who  at  once  purchased 
a  copy  of  it,  and  it  has  since  found  its  way  to  many 
art  galleries  of  the  Old  World  and  the  New.  Zenobia, 
the  captive  and  fettered  Queen,  stands  apart,  un- 
fettered in  soul  and  unconquered  by  fate.  Beatrice 
Cenci  lies  near,  overcome  by  weariness,  as  on  the 
night  before  her  execution;  but  even  in  her  sleep  the 
bitterness  of  her  despair  and  her  utter  sense  of 
abandonment  never  loose  their  hold  upon  the  help- 
less girl.     In  strong  contrast  to  this  earthly  misery 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  279 

is  the  Sleeping  Faun,  who  reclines  on  a  bank  in  serene 
repose,  so  full  of  calm  and  peace  that  one  is  sure 
none  but  a  soulless  being  could  fall  into  this  dream- 
less slumber.  Not  far  from  this  Faun  stands  one  of 
Gibson's  own  works,  the  Amazon,  full  of  vigor  and 
womanliness,  and  glowing  with  the  warm,  life-like  tint 
which  that  master  loved  to  give  to  his  marbles.  The 
latest  work  of  Miss  Hosmer  is  a  full-length  statue 
of  the  ex-Queen  of  Naples,  '  the  beautiful  Queen,' 
as  Mrs.  Browning  called  her.  To  it  she  devoted  two 
years  of  careful  labor." 


TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Bear  Pater:  ^«^^'  ^^^-  ^^  ^^^^' 

Well,  it  is  no  longer  summer,  though  I  had  got  to 
feel  that  it  was  always  August  here,  and  winter  is 
along  with  its  whirl  once  more.  I  do  not  find  Rome 
so  full  as  usual  at  this  season,  but  many  are  coming 
later.  As  to  priests  and  prelates,  the  town  is  black 
with  them.  Mrs.  Kemble  is  here,  delightful  as  ever. 
She  really  is  the  most  wonderful  woman  I  know.  All 
my  Lenox  enthusiasm  and  admiration  return  when  I 
look  upon  her,  or  listen  to  her.  Miss  Cushman,  too, 
is  on  her  way,  and  Miss  Lloyd  is  one  of  her  party. 

Apartments  are  going  up  fabulouslj^,  and  I  look 
with  considerable  complacency  upon  my  snug  little 
home  costing  me  twenty-eight  scudi  a  month.  You 
see,  though  it  did  cost  something  to  furnish,  once 
furnished,  house  rent  comes  easy,  and  it  certainly  is 
the  only  thing  to  do  if  one  intends  to  stay  here. 

I  am  beginning  to  think  my  summer  here  has  done 
me  good,  and  Mrs.  Story  said  on  first  seeing  me, 
"  Well,  Hatty,  I  prepared  a  good  scolding  for  you, 
but  I  never  saw  you  look  better." 

Lady   Marian   comes   in  another   three   weeks,   and 


280  HARRIET  HOSMER 

the  Empress  of  Austria  is  on  her  way  to  stay  some 
time  with  her  sister  the  Queen  of  Naples.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  ^°*^'  ^^^-  ^^''^^ 

I  have  just  received  an  order  for  a  monument  to 

be  placed  in  the  cemetery  at  .     It  is  to  he  of 

bronze  and  that  red  free  stone  of  which  I  am  so  fond. 
I  have  been  in  correspondence  for  some  months  with 
the  members  of  the  family,  but  knowing  that  there 
are  slips  sometimes  in  monuments  I  have  said  nothing 
about  it  till  now  it  is  quite  settled  and  may  be  spoken 
of.  So  I  don't  think  I  shall  see  my  native  land  this 
year.  I  am  as  busy  as  a  whole  hive  of  bees,  one 
bee  is  not  sufficient  to  represent  all  the  irons  I  have 
in  the  fire.  One  is  in  Munich,  about  some  casting  to 
be  begun,  and  I  should  go  thither  any  way  to  see  my 
Queen. 

Boxall,*  my  early  love  and  my  late  one  too,  was 
here  for  nearly  a  month,  and  of  course  I  flirted  a  deal 
with  him.  He  is  as  delightful  as  ever  and  quite  as 
matrimonial.  In  fact,  I  was  plighted  to  him  before 
a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  I  told  him  that  positively 
I  never  found  myself  in  such  a  plight  before. 

The  Queen  of  Naples  ("  the  lovely  Queen,"  as  Mr. 
Longfellow  calls  her)  is  looking  uncommonly  hand- 
some. She  sent  for  me  last  Sunday  to  show  me  her 
new  horse,  a  present  from  her  sister  (the  Empress  of 
Austria  whose  own  pet  saddle  horse  it  was),  and 
really  it  is  the  most  beautiful  thing  I  ever  saw  on 

four  legs.  ... 

°  Yours,  H. 

Miss  Hosmer's  readiness  to  oblige  a  friend,  even 
to  the  gratifying  of  a  whim,  is  shown  in  the  following 
letters,   which  refer   particularly   to   the   Empress  of 

*  The  venerable  Sir  William  Boxall. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  281 

Austria,  of  whom  she  saw  much  in  Rome,  when  she 
was  there  visiting  the  Queen  of  Naples. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Dear  Pater:  ^o^^^'  March  17,  (1870). 

This  letter  is  to  be  devoted  entirely  to  business,  and 
the  next  one  shall  be  devoted  entirely  to  gossip  for 
I  owe  you  two,  but  I  am  generous  and  shall  give  you 
three  before  I  consider  my  debt  paid!  !  !  This  is  a 
commission  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  execute  for  me 
in  the  best  style  of  Art,  as  it  is  for  the  Empress  and 
the  Queen  (Austria  and  Naples  understood.)  They 
want  half-a-dozen  SHAKER  HATS!  !  !  !  !  That  in 
large  letters,  for  I  am  sure  it  will  make  you  laugh. 
Those  royal  ladies  are  going  to  appear  this  summer 
in  that  style  of  head-dress,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
Shaker  hats  will  afterwards  be  in  great  demand 
throughout  Austria  and  Bavaria.  These  hats,  which, 
I  hear,  are  to  be  found  in  Lebanon,  are  supposed  to 
be  the  real  thing,  though  you  may  know  of  others 
nearer  home  just  as  good;  but  the  Lebanon  ones  are 
those  called  for.  They  must  be  of  the  finest  quality 
possible,  and  light,  for  that  is  a  sine  qua  non.  And 
now  comes  the  important  feature.  It  appears  they 
have  green  veils  of  silk  attached  to  them  somewhere. 
I  presume  to  a  portion  of  the  brim,  though  I  confess 
my  mind  is  not  clear  on  that  point.  But  lightness  and 
the  green  veils  seem  to  be  the  great  attraction.  Now 
could  you  help  me  to  attain  to  these  HATS?  I  am 
sure  you  can,  if  any  one  can,  and  I  shall  be  a  thou- 
sand times  obliged  to  you,  and  so  will  be,  the  hand- 
some ladies  in  question.  Now  here  is  the  size  of  the 
hats  in  general,  but  a  trifle  bigger,  or  a  trifle  smaller, 
three  of  them  had  better  be — the  other  three,  the 
exact  size  of  this  cord,  which,  for  fear  it  should  get 


282  HARRIET  HOSMER 

lost,  I  had  better  state  is  twenty-two  inches  (English). 
When  said  hats  are  ready  to  depart,  I  shall  ask  you 
to  have  them  packed  so  that  sea  air  will  not  injure 
them,  and  have  the  box  addressed  to  Sherlock  &  Co., 
Liverpool.  I  will  send  you  within  a  week  the  fuller 
address,  so  that  there  will  be  no  mistake.  Meantime, 
will  you  give  the  hats  a  start  towards  fabrication,  as 
they  are  wanted  as  soon  as  may  be.  Pray  for 
Heaven's  sake  don't  omit  the  green  veils.  Are  they 
not  sewn  in  the  inside  of  the  brim,  so  as  to  fall  round 
the  neck?  I  don't  remember,  but  please  have  them 
as  they  are  worn. 

I  must  close  or  lose  this  post.  You  ask  if  I  am 
coming  home  this  summer.  I  think  it  quite  an  im- 
possible thing.  I  am  going  to  see  the  effect  of  the 
hats,   and   then   to   England.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

Rome,  Sunday  night  I  know  it  is, 
and  I  believe  it  is  June  6,    (1870) 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

How  long  it  is  since  I  vowed  I  would  not  get  into 
my  bed  before  writing  you  a  line,  and  then — well, 
I  have  gone  to  bed  (because  I  couldn't  sit  up  all  this 
time)  and  somehow  the  letter  has  never  got  written. 
I  received  yours  about  the  hats.  With  you,  I  was 
immensely  amused  at  the  idea  that  the  "  homelier  " 
they  were,  the  more  desirable  they  appeared  to  the 
Shaker  mind.  Well,  when  I  found  that  you  could 
only  procure  a  bonnet,  still  worse  a  scoop,  I  thought 
it  wasn't  worth  while  to  have  such  objects  sent  over, 
and  have  written  to  the  Queen  to  tell  her  so.  I  re- 
member the  real  grocer's  brown  sugar  scoop,  but 
somehow  I  still  have  it  on  my  mind,  that  centuries 
ago  I  used  to  see  hats  with  a  green  veil  all  round,  or 
have  I  witnessed  the  apotheosis  of  some  Shaker  in  a 
picture,  and  was  the  hat  the  ideal  of  a  bonnet?    How- 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  283 

ever  that  may  be,  I  am  a  thousand  times  obliged  for 
all  the  trouble  you  have  taken,  just  as  much  as  if 
the  result  had  been  that  the  Empress  was  seen  seated 
upon  her  throne  in  one  of  the  pious  scoops. 

Speaking  of  art,  I  enclose  a  photograph  of  my  new 
horse  that  won  the  steeplechase,  and  this  is  my  new 
groom,  and  "  New"  is  his  name;  a  first  rate  man  he 
is,  and  a  beautiful  rider.  I  hope  you  observe  the  stars 
and  stripes  (in  the  picture),  printed  stars  and 
"  strips "  in  the  programme,  don't  say  I  am  not 
patriotic!  Mrs.  B.  said  she  broke  her  new  parasol 
cheering  the  national  colors.  Vonvc    TT 

^         7,r     /-<  Rome,  Sep.  21,  1870. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  ^ 

Now  the  oracle  becomes  garrulous.  I  am  fairly 
upon  the  war-path  or  in  the  path  of  war.  When  I 
last  wrote  you  I  did  not  think  that  my  next  letter 
would  contain  a  staggerer.  Of  course  you  know  what 
that  staggerer  is,  probably  know  it  to-night.  Rome 
belongs  no  more  to  the  dear  old  gentleman  with  the 
Tiara!  !  !  Having  written  those  words  I  read  and 
re-read  them,  they  are  so  impossible  to  realize.  I, 
skeptical  to  the  last,  as  one  always  is  who  has  heard 
of  a  possibility  for  eighteen  years,  would  not  credit 
the  fact  that  the  Italians  were  really  coming,  though 
they  were  outside  the  gates.  But  yesterday  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning  began  a  cannonading  which 
made  us  open  our  winkers  i^retty  lively,  and  keep 
them  open  as  big  as  saucers  until  near  eleven  o'clock, 
when  a  hole  was  knocked  in  the  wall  and  in  marched 
Victor  Emmanuel's  troops. 

All  the  fighting  was  at  the  Porta  Pia,  which  you 
recollect  is  very  near  my  house,  so  we  had  the  full 
benefit  of  the  noise  and  of  the  cannon  balls  too,  as  I 
found  when  I  attempted  to  see  a  little  of  the  fun  out- 
side my  own  walls.     When  the  cry  arose  that   Na- 


284. 


HARRIET  HOSMER 


poleon's  Villa  was  on  fire,  my  curiosity  overcame  my 
prudence  and  I  went  into  the  Via  Pia,  spyglass  in 
hand;  but  I  was  soon  brought  to  my  senses,  for  a 
shell  burst  within  a  stone's  throw  of  me  and  a  piece 
fell  not  two  yards  from  my  feet.  A  great  cry  arose 
of  "  IndietrOj  indietro!''  and  I,  with  the  rest  of  the 
crowd,  left  for  home,  and  had  not  turned  the  corner 
by  more  than  a  second  and  a  half  when  another  shell 
burst  at  the  very  corner  and  cut  open  a  man's  head 
who  was  so  near  me  that  he  was  touching  my  dress. 
Pretty  lively,  wasn't  it? 

So  I  concluded  home  was  as  good  a  place  as  any, 
and  stayed  here  as  long  as  I  could,  but  presently 
sallied  forth  again,  being  hailed  by  two  friends,  and 
crept  round  corners  till  I  got  to  Rossetti's  house  in 
the  Porta  Pinciana,  where  we  had  a  grand  view  of 
things,  with  a  ball  whizzing  round  our  ears  every  few 
minutes  to  add  to  the  excitement  of  the  occasion.  We 
had,  however,  to  make  ourselves  scarce  again  when  a 
bomb  fell  three  roofs  from  ours,  and  I  then  began 
to  think  I  had  had  enough  of  the  smoke  and  din  of 
battle,  and  had  better  retire  gracefully  while  I  had 
a  whole  set  of  bones  in  my  body. 

No  one  thought  the  fighting  would  be  so  serious,  as 
the  Pope  had  declared  he  should  make  only  a  "  moral 
protest,"  for  which  five  minutes  of  actual  warfare 
was  as  good  as  five  days.  After  just  five  and  a  half 
hours,  the  cannonading  ceased  and  Rome  became 
Italian.  We  can  scarcely  believe  it,  and  such  re- 
joicings as  the  Romans  are  waking  up  to,  are  per- 
fectly unnatural  in  this  quiet  Papal  city.  How  many 
times  I  have  thanked  my  stars  that  I  was  here!  I 
wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  the  world.  I  write  in  a 
disjointed  manner,  for  my  head  is  entirely  dazed 
with  what  I  have  seen  and  heard.  You  will  have  a 
better  account  than  I  can  give  you,  in  all  the  papers 
for  the  next  month,  probably,  and  this  is  only  a  sort 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  285 

of  excuse  for  my  telling  you  that  I  am  here  and  not 
killed,  but  very  lively  indeed. 

In  the  afternoon  everybody  went  out  to  the  Porta 
Pia,  and  you  would  never  have  recognized  the  place. 
The  gate  that  the  dear  old  Pope  has  been  whittling  at 
for  years,  his  own  pet  portal,  looks  like  a  piece  of 
perforated  card,  and  a  strange  thing  happened  that 
set  afloat  all  sorts  of  sensational  stories.     A  shell  took 
off  the  heads  of  two  statues,  each  side  of  the  gate, 
and    sent    them    rolling    along    the    pavement.      The 
statues  were  those  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul.     The 
bodies  were  not  injured.     Of  course  those  who  so  de- 
sired, read  the  omen  as  indicating  that  ecclesiastical 
rule  was  ended  forever.     The  fresco  of  the  Madonna 
is  pretty  well  punched,  and  there  are  so  many  trenches 
to  skip  over  that  one  wants  four  legs  instead  of  two. 
The  Napoleon  Villa    (just  inside  the  gate)    has  suf- 
fered most.    A  bomb  set  fire  to  it  so  that  all  that  was 
combustible    went    "per    aria."      The    iron    gate    is 
twisted  into  all  kinds  of  shapes,  and  the  garden  wall 
riddled.     I  got  into  that  garden  and  there  saw  a  sight 
I    shall    never    forget, — a    dead    Zouave    all    covered 
with  dust,  his  hands  and  face  like  marble,  and  a  most 
frightful  gunshot  wound  in  the  lower  part  of  his  face, 
which  must  have  killed  him  on  the  spot.     There  were 
very  few  killed,  tho'  a  number  were  wounded.     But 
it  is  so  impossible  to  get  at  the  truth  of  things  in  this 
confusion  that  I  believe  nothing  as  yet.     The  entry 
of  the  soldiers  was  most  exciting,  to  the  number,  some 
say,  of  40,000,  some  say  60,000. 

This  has  been  such  a  summer  of  astounding  events 
that  one's  mind  fails  to  grasp  any  idea  that  does  not 
savor  of  the  miraculous,  and  one  is  so  stunned  by  all 
that  has  transpired  in  France  that  the  drama  of  yes- 
terday seems  but  child's  play.  What  is  to  be  said  of 
the  subjugation  of  France  and  the  imprisonment  of 
the  Emperor?     We  can't  take  it  all  in.     The  fact  is 


286  HARRIET  HOSMER 

so  vast  and  brings  such  consequences.  One  thing, 
however,  seems  to  be  pretty  generally  believed,  that 
the  Republic  can't  last,  and  when  it  falls  many  say 
that  the  Italians  will  have  to  march  out  of  this.  The 
Pope  is  strong  yet.  We  saw  the  opening  scene  yes- 
terday, but  we  have  still  to  see  the  second  act.  We 
do  not  know  yet  whether  the  Pope  will  stay  or  go, 
but  wherever  he  is,  he  has  the  sympathy  of  millions 
of  the  faithful,  and  if  they  can  manage  to  put  their 
sympathy  in  the  tangible  form  of  an  army  from  some- 
where, Italy  will  be  just  exactly  where  she  was  in 
the  olden  time.  The  government  was  forced  into  this, 
but  I  believe  did  not  wish  it,  foreseeing  the  troubles 
it  would  involve.  Playing  with  the  Vatican  is  a  dan- 
gerous business. 

I  am  still  going  to  England.  I  have  said  so  many 
times  that  "  I  am  off,"  that  it  becomes  ridiculous,  but 
I  shall  go  unless  I  come  in  for  another  brush  in  these 
unsettled  times.  We  have  been  entirely  cut  off  from 
the  civilized  world  for  nearly  two  weeks,  and  know 
absolutely  nothing,  but  to-morrow  shall  be  better  in- 
formed. Any  way,  if  Victor  Emmanuel  is  to  enter 
Rome  in  a  hurry,  it  is  a  sight  I  would  not  miss  for 

worlds.  ^r  TT 

Yours,  H. 

7^        71^     /-»  Rome,  Dec.  1870. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

This  is  the  night  before  Christmas,  so  I  leave  you 
to  guess  at  the  date,  and  I  can't  let  this  evening  go 
by  without  wishing  you  a  merry  one,  tho'  you  won't 
get  my  wish  till  we  are  well  on  towards  another.  It 
is  almost  Christmas  day  now,  for  I  have  just  come 
in  from  a  party,  which  things  go  on  as  usual.  Though 
of  all  the  quiet,  flat  winters,  this  one  bids  fair  to  be 
superlative;  you  never  saw  Rome  so  quiet.  Apart- 
ment let-ers  are  grumbling,  and  house  let-ers  are 
growling,   and   people   are   beginning   to   say   that   if 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  287 

this  is  the  result  of  the  new  government,  they  would 
rather  have  the  old  one  back  again.  This  winter  in  its 
dulness  will  do  more  for  the  Pope  than  a  whole  army, 
and  I  am  every  day  more  and  more  convinced  that 
the  thing  is  not  going  to  work. 

The  King  has  made  the  gi'eat  mistake  of  delaying 
his  coming.  He  ought  to  have  been  here  three  days 
after  his  army.  He  is  Italian,  after  all,  and  the  idea 
of  coming  here  and  confronting  the  Pope's  scowl  is 
a  thing  he  shivers  at.  I  could  not  have  believed  such 
a  thing  unless  I  had  heard  it,  as  I  did,  from  a  person 
who  is  well  acquainted  with  the  King,  has  been  behind 
the  scenes  throughout  the  whole  performance,  culmi- 
nating in  the  20th  of  September.  He  is  a  Liberal, 
all  for  Victor  Emmanuel,  and  yet  he  was  forced  to  ad- 
mit the  truth  of  it.  The  Romans  have  heard  so  often 
that  the  King  was  coming,  and  then  have  been  doomed 
to  disappointment,  that  they  talk  less  about  it  now, 
and  one  sees  their  ardor  is  a  little  cooled.  Certain 
it  is  that  among  the  Nobs  (of  the  Romans)  the  very 
small  number  is  for  Victor  Emmanuel.  Most  of  them 
remain  loyal  to  the  Pope.  They  refuse  to  accept 
the  offices  proposed  to  them  by  the  Italian  govern- 
ment because  they  will  not  take  the  necessary  oaths, 
and  altogether  it  is  very  rough  riding  for  the  Italian 
Ministers.  Now  the  report  circulates  that  the  King 
is  coming  on  the  8th  or  12th,  but  I  shall  believe  it 
when  I  see  him;  and  as  soon  as  he  comes,  the  Pope 
goes,  but  not  far,  and  will  enter  Rome  again  as  soon 
as  the  usurper  has  disappeared,  which  will  be  in  three 
days  after  his  arrival.  All  hope  of  bringing  the 
Vatican  to  terms  seems  distant,  and  Antonelli,  who 
knows  the  Romans,  counsels  general  mourning,  no 
ceremonies  in  the  churches,  not  a  whisk  of  a  candle 
towards  an  illumination,  nothing  to  attract  forestieri, 
and  all  that  touches  the  pocket,  the  seat  of  the  Italian 
conscience.     My  opinion   is   that   V.   E.   has   already 


288  HARRIET  HOSMER 

had  enough  of  Rome,  but  he  will  have  more  of  it,  and 
I  am  no  good  guesser  if  Italy  does  not  tumble  to 
pieces  upon  the  Roman  question. 

Well,  that  is  more  of  politics  than  I  usually  treat 
you  to,  but  you  may  like  to  hear  how  things  look 
now  we  are  all  liberal  here. 

Mrs.  Kemble  has  just  arrived.  Of  course  this  dread- 
ful war  prevents  many  from  getting  here,  for  it  is  a 
long  roundabout  giro  through  Germany.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Dear  Pater:  ^«^^'  ^^^'  ^0,  1870. 

Ever  since  the  flood  (I  don't  mean  old  Noah's, 
which  he  got  up  when  he  had  nothing  better  to  do, 
but  Pio  Nono's  when  he  had)  I  have  meant  to  tell  you 
about  the  same.  I  sat  down  as  soon  as  I  had  dried 
my  stockings,  to  write  you  pages  upon  hydraulics, 
but  so  much  has  happened  since,  that  I  must  let  some 
of  those  pages  slide. 

That  inundation  was  truly  awful.  It  is  said  that 
for  two  centuries,  such  a  visitation  has  not  been  known. 
The  Corso,  Ripetto,  and  portions  of  the  Babuino  were 
only  navigable  in  boats,  and  most  of  the  shops  in  the 
Corso  have  lost  fifty  thousand  francs  apiece,  on  an 
average.  The  waters  rose  with  astonishing  rapidity, 
yet  I  still  think  that  in  any  other  place  than  Rome, 
where  people  have  a  way  of  sitting  down  and  expect- 
ing the  Madonna  to  help  them,  they  would  have  saved 
three-fourths  of  what  was  lost  for  want  of  a  little 
energy  and  discretion.  I  was  cut  off  from  my  studio 
except  through  the  Hotel  Terny,  but  with  the  luck 
that  often  pursues  me,  the  water  came  just  up  to  my 
stable  door,  which  is  a  trifle  lower  than  the  studio, 
and  then  went  down  again,  so  it  did  not  injure 
me. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  289 

It  gave  an  excuse  for  Victor  Emmanuel  to  bodkin 
himself  through  these  holy  walls,  and  he  took  advan- 
tage of  it.  He  came  quite  on  the  sly,  took  a  drive 
through  the  Corso,  and  on  to  the  Pincio,  and  was  off 
the  very  same  day,  glad  enough,  they  say,  to  get  out 
of  the  place.  Whatever  the  Liberals  may  say,  the 
fact  remains  that  Victor  E.  finds  himself  in  a  very 
difficult  position  in  Rome.  None  of  the  Romans 
will  accept  office  under  the  new  government,  and  this 
very  day  the  report  circulates  that  the  Syndic  and 
Municipality  have  resigned  in  a  mass.  The  Pope 
stays  in  the  Vatican,  is  determined  to  make  himself  a 
prisoner,  and  in  fact  has  never  been  out  of  the  palace 
and  gardens  since  the  20th  of  September.  The  ma- 
jority of  his  subjects  are  loyal  to  him,  in  spite  of  their 
talk  about  Liberalism,  and  I  would  bet  upon  the  Pope 
now,  especially  when  we  consider  the  great  amount  of 
discontent  throughout  Italy.  A  revolution  in  Sicily 
has  to  be  put  down  every  now  and  then,  and  my 
impression  is,  with  this  Roman  question  in  hand, 
which  is  the  most  difficult  question  Italy  has  had  to 
deal  with,  that  her  hands  may  become  more  full,  one 
of  these  days,  than  she  can  manage. 

The  Prince  and  Princess  of  Piedmont  came  the  other 
day,  and  society  (Roman)  is  completely  divided  as 
to  who  shall  speak  to  them  and  who  shall  not.  Papa- 
lini  or  Liberali  you  must  be.  You  can't  be  both.  He 
was  at  the  hunt  to-day,  and  is  no  beauty.  She,  they 
say,  is  pretty  and  altogether  cliarming.  I  haven't 
seen  her,  not  even  a  glimpse,  though  one  of  her  gentle- 
men of  honor  informs  me  I  am  to  have  a  visit  from 
her.  But  I  am  faithful  to  my  violet-eyed  heroine 
of  Gaeta.* 

And  now  we  are  all  bowled  over  by  the  news  of  the 
capitulation  of  Paris.  A  year  ago,  how  unintelligible 
those  words  would  have  been!     Verily  the  past  six 

*  The    Queen   of    Naples. 


290  HARRIET  HOSMER 

months  have  been  those  of  miracles,  and  now  we  shall 
all  stand  with  ears  and  eyes  open,  to  know  how  affairs 
are  going  to  settle  themselves.  Poor  France  is 
squelched  and  I  am  sorry  for  her,  and  should  have 
infinitely  more  compassion  if  I  did  not  feel  that  she 
was  unpardonably  aggressive  in  the  beginning.  Prus- 
sia is  now  cock  of  the  walk,  the  arbiter  of  Europe, 
the  great  German  Empire. 

Well,  we  got  up  an  eclipse  here  to  enliven  us,  but 
they  beat  us  in  Sicily,  whither  Professor  Peirce  wended 
his  steps,  all  the  way  from  Cambridge.  He  told  me 
that  I  had  better  go  and  get  a  squint  at  it  also,  but, 
says  I,  "  Oh  Professor,  there  is  sea  on  the  way, 
and  when  I  know  there  is  sea,  I  stay  on  land." 

Then  we  have  had  General  Sheridan  here,  whom  1 
tried  to  entice  out  with  the  hounds,  and  told  him  I 
would  give  him  a  mount,  but  the  weather  was  such 
it  would  have  been  more  discreet  to  go  bobbing  for 
eels.  In  all  the  years  I  have  been  here,  I  never  knew 
the  like  of  this  for  rain.  Most  of  the  artists  are 
grumbling  this  year,  but  I  am  not  so  badly  off  as  I 
might  be,  and  the  last  bomb  that  came  was  the  order 
for  a  large  Zenobia,  and  a  Puck,  for  Chicago. 

This  year  I  am  certainly  off  betimes.  First  of  all 
I  am  going  to  the  Queen  of  Naples  at  Munich,  then 
to  England  and  back  again  to  Munich  on  business. 
Very  few  forestieri  are  here.  Apartment  let-ers  are 
tearing  their  hair  to  such  an  extent  that  wigs  fetch 
a  double  price. 

Well,  I  should  think  you  must  be  tired.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

Miss  Hosmer,  who  knew  the  Empress  of  Austria 
well,  related  that  when  she  came  to  Rome  to  visit  her 
sister,  the  Queen  of  Naples,  as  the  latter  was  one  of 
the  artist's  good  friends,  she  of  course  saw  much  of 
her.     The  Empress  paid  her  the  honor  of  making  the 


O 

o 
< 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  291 

first  call  upon  her  at  her  studio.  She  said,  "  The 
fame  of  her  beauty  was  European,  and  when  I  saw 
her  I  felt  that  this  fame  had  not  been  exaggerated. 
One  day,  being  in  the  Queen's  boudoir  with  these  two 
distinguished  ladies,  who  were  looking  particularly 
picturesque,  I  thought  mortal  eye  had  never  witnessed 
a  fairer  duet  of  loveliness,  for  the  Queen  was  as  beau- 
tiful as  the  Empress,  both  possessing  that  nameless 
grace  which  we  all  recognize  and  which  no  one  can 
describe,  an  air  of  highest  distinction.  One  charm  of 
the  Empress  was  her  beautiful  voice,  sounding  like  a 
sweet  silver  bell.  .  .  . 

One  of  the  prettiest  stories  I  ever  heard  of  her  was 
connected  with  a  visit  to  a  certain  insane  asylum. 
Her  Majesty  was  shown  through  various  wards,  but 
one  door  was  closed.  Upon  asking  why  she  was  not 
allowed  to  enter  the  ward,  one  of  her  ladies  in  waiting 
explained  that  there  was  a  patient  inside  who  fancied 
she  was  the  Empress  of  Austria.  '  Oh,  I  understand,' 
said  the  Empress,  *  Pray  let  me  see  her  ' ;  and,  on 
being  admitted,  humored  the  poor  woman's  fancy, 
and  treated  her  with  all  the  consideration  due  her- 
self." 

Miss  Hosmer  had  a  beautiful  photograph  of  the 
Empress  with  one  of  her  great  staghounds  *  lying 
at  her  feet,  and  still  another  photograph  Avhich  she 
gave  her  of  herself  and  a  favorite  horse,  for  it  is  well 
known  that  Her  Majesty  was  an  enthusiastic  lover 
of  horses. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  photograph?"   said 

she. 

*  One   of   these    Miss    Hosmer    modelled. 


292  HARRIET  HOSMER 

"  This  photograph  does  not  do  your  Majesty  jus- 
tice," Miss  Hosmer  replied. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  Empress,  for  her  modesty  was  as 
great  as  her  beauty,  "  don't  look  at  me,  look  at  the 
horse." 

The  last  time  she  heard  her  musical  voice  was  when 
she  said  to  her,  "  If  you  come  to  Vienna,  I  will  show 
you  my  horses  and  my  dogs  and  all  my  pretty  things." 

TO . 


Dear  ;  Rome,  (Feb.)  1871. 

Well,  what  do  you  think  of  Paris  now?  Three 
weeks  to  decide  its  fate!  But  I  take  it  the  fighting 
is  all  over,  and  now  there  will  be  a  clamoring  among 
the  diplomats.  The  world,  I  should  think,  had  swal- 
lowed an  effervescing  draught,  and  here  are  the  revo- 
lutionary consequences. 

You  ask  about  the  effect  of  the  Italian  troops  in 
Rome.  The  place  will  be  spoiled  (for  artists) ;  why 
not  leave  one  little  spot  upon  earth  unmolested? 
Plague  on  the  world  that  wants  to  be  forever  going 
on.  But  I  have  no  faith  in  this  state  of  things  last- 
ing. The  dear  old  Pope  won't  perform  any  of  his 
parts  in  the  theatre  of  St.  Peter's  or  anywhere  else. 
Stays  behind  the  scenes  in  the  Vatican,  a  prisoner 
under  his  own  frescoes,  and  is  obliged  to  pick  out  a 
vine  and  fig  tree  from  among  them,  to  sit  under. 
So  wags  the  world.  Yours,  H. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Dear  Pater:  Rome,  Sep.  2,  1871. 

I  do  not  know  where  you  expect  me  to  be,  in 
France,  Germany,  England,  or  all  three,  but  certainly 
you  do  not  expect  to  find  me  turning  up  in  Italy. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  293 

Yet  here  have  I  been,  having  never  turned  down, 
though  I  believe  north  is  usually  represented  by  the 
opposite  figure  of  speech.  I  don't  remember  when 
my  last  letter  to  you  left  me,  but  when  I  was  ready 
to  be  off  I  found  the  moment  was  not  propitious 
for  passing  through  Paris  with  Kuhl  *  as  one  of  the 
proscribed  nation,  so  I  waited,  fully  believing  that 
things  would  get  better,  instead  of  which,  they  have 
got  w^orse  and  worse,  and  now  I  am  stuck  for  yet  a 
little  longer,  though  I  am  going  to  make  the  giro  still, 
incredible  as  it  may  appear.  If  I  go  later,  I  come 
back  later,  so  it  is  as  broad  as  it  is  long. 

Now  who  of  us  would  have  supposed  that  that 
cocky  nation,  the  French,  could  have  been  so  laid 
low?  My  sympathies,  I  must  tell  you,  are  on  the 
other  side,  simply  because  it  seems  to  me  the  war 
was  so  uncalled  for,  and  that  the  occasion  was  seized 
only  to  strengthen  a  rather  tottering  position,  sup- 
posing of  course,  as  he  believed  fortune  would  be  on 
his  side.  My  style  is  a  little  involved  and  ambiguous, 
as  you  see,  for  it  might  be  death  to  the  transit  of  my 
letter  to  insert  names  and  relate  facts!  But  all  eyes 
must  have  been  opened  in  America  as  well  as  here,  at 
the  astonishing  course  the  war  has  taken. 

Well,  now  let  me  leave  war  and  take  up  peace. 

I  oscillate  between  Rome  and  Albano.  We  have 
had  a  delightful  summer,  not  very  hot,  and  you  know 
how  I  like  Rome  all  to  myself.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

ASHRIDGE,    Gt.    BeRKHAMSTEAD, 

Dear  Pater:  Wednesday,  Nov..  1871. 

Here  I  am,  safe  and  sound,  having  accomplished 
the    journey    as    easily    as    possible.      Found    Lady 

•  Her    German    maid. 


294  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Somers  just  gone,  which  was  a  mutual  vexation.    Lots 
of  other  people  are  here,  coming  and  going. 

Lady  ^larian  *  whispered  to  me  that  she  was  sup- 
posed to  leave  on  Friday,  herself,  so  that  nobody 
was  coming  after  that  time,  and  she  was  going  to  keep 
till  Monday,  for  me.  She  is  as  sweet  as  ever;  and  is 
the  perfection  of  everything  lovely  and  stately. 

I  had  this  morning  a  summons  to  Castle  Ashby, 
with  postscript  added  by  Lady  Alwyne,  which  I  en- 
close. I  consider  it  artistic.t  As  I  end,  up  drives 
a  carriageful  of  newcomers.  No  travelling  dresses 
here! 

Yours,  H. 

With  rusty  pen  & 

rustier  fingers  I've 

nothing  to  say  but — 

COME,  Come,  Come, 

come,  come,  come,  come  and  so  on 

through  imperceptible  waves  of  sound, 

your  longing  &  loving 

F.  C. 

*  Her  hostess,  Lady   Marian   Alford.  f  The  postscript. 


CHAPTER  X 

1871-1876 
TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  ^^^"^^'  ^^^-  ^^^^' 

I  wrote  3"ou  from  Paris,  on  my  way  to  Munich, 
where  I  had  a  delightful  week  with  the  Queen  of 
Naples.  They  live  at  the  Castle  of  Garatshausen,  two 
or  three  hours  from  Munich,  a  charming  place  on 
the  Lake  of  Starnburg.  I  never  saw  her  so  hand- 
some. It  is  quite  a  delight  to  look  at  her,  and  she 
was  so  pleased  to  see  me,  I  don't  know  when  I  have 
had  a  warmer  welcome.  The  King,  too,  received  me 
with  open  arms,  but  beat  me  at  chess  every  night  in 
the  most  merciless  manner.  I  went  for  three  days  and 
stayed  seven.  The  Queen  made  me  ride  all  her 
horses,  and  drove  me  about  herself  in  the  mornings 
in  her  carriage  with  the  most  faultless  pair  of  little 
ponies,  round  as  apples.  The  country  is  beautiful 
about  the  lake.  In  the  afternoons  a  ride,  and  such 
scampers  over  the  fields!  I  had  never  a  scrap  of  rid- 
ing gear  with  me,  but  I  was  arrayed  in  her  own  royal 
togs,  and  good  riding  made  up  the  rest.  In  the 
evening  always  chess  with  the  King,  and  having  for- 
gotten almost  all  I  ever  knew  about  the  game,  you 
may  imagine  I  cut  but  a  sorry  figure.  Now  and  then 
in  a  sort  of  wild  and  desperate  way  I  used  to  make  a 
hit  which  made  his  Majesty  stare,  but  it  made  me  stare 
much  more,  I  promise  you.  When  I  came  awaj^  there 
were  three  of  us  sorry,  and  I  promised  to  repeat  my 
visit  next  summer. 

295 


296  HARRIET  HOSMER 

I  stayed  a  day  in  Munich,  afterwards,  and  talked 

bronze  with  Herr  Miiller,  and  dined  with  him.     So 

ended  my  autumn  jaunt,  and  I  came  over  the  Brenner 

home.  ^r  TT 

Yours,  H. 

Miss  Hosmer  later  said,  "  The  romance  of  my  life 
was  centred  in  Garatshausen  and  the  Queen  of  Naples. 
My  intimate  friendship  with  this  lovely  woman  was 
an  episode  to  be  remembered.  In  writing  of  it,  to  Lady 
Alwyne  Compton,  she  said  in  response  to  my  letter, 
'  It  all  sounds  like  a  fairy  tale.'  " 

In  connection  with  Miss  Hosmer's  statue  of  the 
Queen,  it  may  be  interesting  to  recall  that  this  Bava- 
rian Princess,  Maria  Sophia,  when  eighteen  years  of 
age,  was  married  by  proxy  to  Francis,  Crown  Prince 
of  the  Two  Sicilies.  Soon  afterwards  she  joined  him 
in  Naples  (in  February,  1859)  and  in  May,  by  the 
death  of  his  father,  he  became  King  of  Naples,  but 
his  reign  was  short.  Victor  Emmanuel,  aided  by  his 
brilliant  statesman  Cavour,  was  already  marching 
on  to  his  greatness,  and  in  May,  Garibaldi  took  pos- 
session, as  dictator,  of  the  Two  Sicilies  and  made  an 
easy  progress  to  Naples.  Francis  struggled  until 
September  to  hold  his  kingdom;  then,  convinced  of 
the  futility  of  resistance  and  to  avoid  bloodshed,  he 
withdrew  with  a  portion  of  the  army  to  Gaeta,  the 
*'  Gibraltar  of  Italy,"  as  it  was  called. 

The  Queen,  who  had  from  her  first  coming  won 
the  hearts  of  their  subjects,  shared  his  ill  fortunes  and 
his  hardships.  She  was  adored  by  the  soldiers,  and 
was  quite  as  much  at  home  on  the  ramparts  of  the 
fortress  as  was  the  King.     A  picture  of  her  at  this 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  297 

time  has  been  preserved  by  the  writer  Clara  Tschudi, 
who  says: 

*'  With  her  Calabrian  hat  and  wrapped  in  her  ample 
cloak,  the  Consort  of  Francis  II.  was  beautiful  and 
fantastic  as  she  walked  to  and  fro  among  the  guns, 
encouraging  the  soldiers.  In  her  picturesque  and 
martial  garb  she  passed  about  under  a  veritable  rain 
of  balls,  inciting  their  defenders  to  a  stubborn  resist- 
ance. In  the  midst  of  danger  she  kept  her  lofty 
gayety  of  spirit  and  inspired  confidence  in  the  men. 
To  the  wounded,  her  devotion  and  her  tender  care 
were  unceasing. 

The  siege  lasted  until  the  following  February 
(1861),  when  Gaeta  was  cut  off  from  the  world  and 
finally  reduced  to  ruins.  The  ill-fated  sovereigns 
were  then  forced  to  go  to  Rome  and  accept  the  hos- 
pitality of  Pius  IX.  They  took  up  their  residence 
in  the  Palazzo  Farnese,  and  for  some  years  passed 
their  winters  there  and  the  summers  in  Austria  or 
Germany.  In  1868  their  only  child,  a  daughter,  was 
born  in  Rome,  but  lived  only  six  months.  In  1870 
they  went  to  Paris,  where  they  made  their  home." 

The  beautiful  Queen  had  reigned  but  eighteen 
months,  yet  long  enough  to  be  praised  by  all  Europe 
for  her  brave  defence  of  the  fortress,  and  to  be  called 
the  "  Heroine  of  Gaeta." 

Bear  Mr.  Crow:  ^''''^:  ^'^'^-  ^^'  ^^'^- 

Having  had  the  sniffles  and  having  been  stared  in 
the  face  by  death  and  a  pocket-handkerchief,  I  have 
naturally  thought  of  my  latter  end,  and  my  latter  end 
has  naturally  suggested  my  periodical  piece  of  litera- 
ture— my  will.  (I  have  been  going  to  write  this  ever 
since  last  summer.)  I  shall  simplify  that  document 
amazingly.    I  wish  to  re-write  it,  and  it  will  be  pretty 


298  HARRIET  HOSMER 

concise.  This  is  the  substance  of  it,  and  if  you  would 
put  it  into  proper  form  and  then  tell  me  what  is  to 
be  done,  I  wish  to  do  it  before  I  turn  up  my  toes, 
for  life  is  short  and  toes  are  precarious  and  you  can- 
not tell  what  one  toe  may  bring  forth:  vide  .  .  .  (the 
will). 

That  is  all  I  have  to  say.  Now  that  is  short  and  I 
hope  sweet  and  that  expresses  everything.  Whatever 
I  leave,  the  aforesaid  may  take  immediate  possession 
of,  as  soon  as  that  upward  tendency  is  perceived  in 
my  toes,  and  do  whatever  they  like  with  the  same.  It 
will  not  take  long  to  draw  up  a  copy  of  that  docu- 
ment, and  then  I  will  sign  it  in  the  presence 
of  proper  witnesses,  if  j^ou  will  tell  me  how  many 
and  who  they  must  be,  and  then  I  will  send  it  to  you 
for  safe  keeping. 

Now,  exit  Will iam. 

Yours,  H. 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 

2)^^^  C:  Rome,  Aug.  16,  (1872). 

I  do  not  know  when  I  have  been  more  shocked  than 
when  I  read  in  the  "  Times  "  of  "  the  destruction  of 
Melchet  Court."  Lady  Ashburton's  beautiful  place, 
which  was  but  barely  finished,  the  paper  says  is  two- 
thirds  destroyed.  She  was  very  ill,  in  danger  of  her 
life  two  weeks  before,  and  was  only  recovering, 
just  in  time  to  see  the  place  ruined.  One  thing, 
however,  was  providential;  it  was  in  the  daytime, 
and  all  her  art  treasures  are  saved.  They  are 
enormous,  and  she  has  such  precious  things — a 
Raphael,  a  Titian,  Rubens,  Reynolds,  and  a  perfect 
gallery  of  art.  .  .  . 

Your  H. 


o 

U 

H 

o 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  299 

TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

Paris,  Westminster  (Hotel), 
Dear  Mr.  Crow:  ^^^^  ^^^  of  August,  1872. 

Though  you  see  the  name  of  Westminster,  you 
need  not  fancy  I  am  in  the  Abbey;  quite  too  busy 
to  be  there  just  yet.  But  I  am  not  quite  so  far 
north  as  I  said  I  would  be  at  this  time.  I  shall 
make  it  up  by  going  fast  now.  I  am  boimd  for  the 
jumping  off  place  in  Scotland,  and  stop  on  the  way 
at  Glasgow  to  unpack  and  set  up  a  statue  at  Balla- 
kilrain  Castle,  if  you  know  where  that  is. 

Paris  has  not  yet  got  up  and  shaken  herself.  They 
are  about  resurrecting  the  Vendome  Column,  and 
they  have  done  much  towards  stopping  up  the  holes 
made  in  such  buildings  as  the  Palais  Royal,  part  of 
the  Tuileries,  and  other  sundry  small  apertures,  but 
a  cloud  still  seems  to  be  hanging  over  the  city,  and 
will  hang  for  many  a  day  to  come.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

Buxton,  England,  Oct.  10,  1872. 
Dear  Mr.  Crow: 

You  see  where  I  am,  I  am  deep  in  Buxton  baths. 
It  sounds  as  if  I  were  an  invalid  but  you  would 
scarcely  think  so  if  you  saw  me.  I  do  credit  to  my 
purveyor.  Well  I  came  here  because  Lady  Ashburton 
who  had  been  strongly  recommended  to  take  these 
waters,  was  wavering  in  the  balance  and  my  great 
weight  turned  the  scales  in  favor  of  coming,  so  here 
I  have  been  longer  than  I  intended,  quite  fascinated 
by  the  pretty  place  and  the  cozy  life.  Then  the 
baths  are  delightful,  and  I  have  become  quite  gelat- 
inous in  them. 

I  have  vainly  endeavoured  to  make  some  visits  since 
I  got  into  these  parts,  but  they  have  all  ended  in 
smoke,  and  I  must  shove  the  most  of  them  over  till 


300  HARRIET  HOSMER 

next  year.  I  shall  soon  be  going  south  and  will  throw 
out  an  anchor  or  two  on  the  way.  The  weather  is 
awful  but  we  don't  mind  it.  It  is  more  moist  than 
the  baths,  and  our  garments  consist  entirely  of  um- 
brellas. I  suppose  it  is  the  style  of  weather  till  next 
May.  Give  me  Italy  instead,  for  those  months.  .  .  . 
Between  bathing  and  drinking  the  waters  and  nap- 
ping, there  is  actually  not  a  moment  left  for  any- 
thing but  eating.  We  have  to  do  that,  to  enable  us 
to  do  the  others.  But  that  exercise  roimds  our  day 
as  well  as  our  bodies,  and  then  we  go  to  sleep  again. 
That  is  our  programme  and  that  is  why  I  have  not 
written  to  you  long  since.  ^  tt 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  Rome,  Dec.  9,  1872. 

I  am  only  just  back  in  the  studio  and  believe  I 
have  never  been  so  late  before.  Unlike  Lamb,  if  I 
go  late  I  stay  late.  Rome  is  crowded,  every  corner 
is  grabbed,  and  the  Hotels  are  overflowing.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

After  another  winter  of  work  Miss  Hosmer  re- 
turned to  England  in  the  summer,  and  writes: 

Dear  Pater:      London,  Kent  House,  July,  1873. 

Here  I  scarcely  breathe,  have  been  on  the  go  this 
whole  day,  busy  in  town  all  the  morning,  then  by  rail 
half  an  hour  to  a  delightful  luncheon,  and  back  again 
to  cut  round  until  a  late  dinner;  and  here  I  am  with 
not  even  one  leg  to  stand  upon.  Am  invited  to  meet 
the  Royalties  at  Ashridge  this  week,  but  am  going 
to  Melchet  until  Csesar  *  is  finished,  then  London 
again,  and  Ashridge  later.  With  all  my  banging 
about  I  thrive  like  a  green  bay  tree. 

*  One   of  the  fine   Saint   Bernard   dogs   belonging   to  Lady   Ashburton, 
both  of  which   she   modelled. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  301 

You  can  untie  about  foiu'  hundred  and  eighty-two 
Gordian  knots  for  me,  and  I  want  you  to  come  to 
the  rescue.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  house  that  was 
so  old,  it  didn't  know  which  way  to  fall,  and  so  it 
stood  forever?  or  of  the  old  lady  who  had  so  many 
ailments  that  she  didn't  know  which  to  die  of,  so  she 
plagued  her  relatives  to  all  perpetuity?  Well,  I  am 
at  this  moment  due  in  so  many  places  that  I  stay  here 
because  I  do  not  know  where  to  begin.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

This  letter  from  John  Forster  was  in  answer  to  one 
which  Miss  Hosmer  wrote  in  the  name  of  a  friend,  to 
thank  him  for  a  slight  service: 

Palace  Gate  House^  Kensington  W., 

London,  Nov.  19,  1873. 
My  dear  Miss  Hosmer: 

Your  letter  gave  me  singular  pleasure,  and  as  for 
your  not  claiming  me  for  an  acquaintance,  I  think 
that  very  strange,  when,  for  my  own  part,  I  am  bold 
enough  to  claim  you  as  nothing  less  than  a  very  old 
friend.  I  have  heard  of  you  so  much,  and  always 
so  pleasantly,  in  past  years;  and,  in  these  present 
years  and  days  I  hear  of  you  so  continually  still,  that 
I  seem  to  know  you  a  great  deal  better,  in  all  that 
makes  knowledge  worth  having,  than  half  the  people 
I  see  and  talk  to.  I  wish  you  could  hear  your  old 
friend  Sir  William  Boxall  speaking  of  you.  But 
what  more  do  I  need,  to  tell  me  really  what  you  are, 
than  this  delightful  little  letter  which  you  write  to  me, 
filled  with  all  that  expresses  most  perfectly  a  true 
and  generous  nature.  It  is  not  your  fault  that  it  gives 
me  too  nuich  praise.  You  derive  that  from  your 
friend,*  who  so  unselfishly  exaggerates  into  absolute 
service  every  small  attempt  to  serve  her,  and  of  whom 

*  Lady  Ashburton. 


302  HARRIET  HOSMER 

I  need  not  say  to  you,  that  in  liberality  and  generosity 
of  character  she  far  transcends  any  one  whom  I  have 
ever  known.  I  am  literally  ashamed  of  her  acknowl- 
edgments for  such  small  help  as  I  give,  and  of  which 
the  pleasure  that  attends  the  giving  of  it  might  well 
suffice  for  its  own  reward.  Here  my  library,  this 
gloomy  November  day,  is  gladdened,  brightened,  and 
fragrant  with  the  most  precious  flowers — her  gift,  and 
such  things  have  no  stint  or  measure  with  her!  Be 
sure  that  nothing  I  can  do  for  her  will  ever  be  want- 
ing— I  only  hope  it  may  some  day  amount  to  a  serv- 
ice not  unworthy  of  one  so  noble.  My  dear  Miss 
Hosmer,  if  you  come  to  England,  you  will  let  me  see 
you  as  an  old  friend,  and  meanwhile  think  of  me  as 

Most  sincerely  yours, 

John  Forster. 

After  another  lapse  of  time  the  artist  writes: 

■n        7,r     ^  Rome,  Feb.  2,  1875. 

Dear  Mr,  Crow:  ' 

I  was  invited  to  Warwick  for  Christmas,  but  not 
having  the  seven  league  boots,  couldn't  go.  I  shall 
be  wending  my  way  Englandwards  again  when  sum- 
mer really  comes,  which  means  about  August.  I  have 
been  doing  a  little  drama,  and  it  was  printed  for  the 
Princess  Margherita.  Hearing  that  I  have  embarked 
in  the  drama,  you  may  think  I  am  about  to  abandon 
sculpture.  I  am  not,  but  I  don't  think  I  ever  made 
so  good  a  hit  in  the  marble  line  as  I  did  in  my  new 
quill-driving  several  nights  ago.  You  know  Mrs. 
Story  gets  up  theatricals  every  year,  and  she  has  often 
asked  me  to  write  them  a  play.  I  never  had  a  suffi- 
ciently strong  attack  of  inspiration  till  now,  but  the 
ghost  of  Shakespeare  came  to  my  aid,  and  here  is 
the  programme.  You  may  gather  a  little  what  it 
means,  and  I  will  send  you  a  copy  soon.  It  went  off 
triumphantly,     and     "  the     illustrious     author "     was 


LETTERS  AND  ME:M0RIES  303 

loudly  called  for  at  the  close.  But  the  "  illustrious 
author "  got  ahead  of  the  audience  and  sent  out  a 
quill  rather  more  than  six  feet  high,  as  the  real  author 
of  the  piece.  So  much  for  Thespia!  *  It  was  entitled, 
"  1975 — a  Prophetic  Drama,"  by  Chi-lo-sa  (who 
knows),  and  given  in  Mrs.  Story's  apartment  in  the 
Barberini  Palace.  The  scene  was  laid  in  the  mummy 
room  of  the  British  Museum,  among  the  mummy  cases, 
the  occupants  emerging  one  hundred  years  later.  The 
actors  were: 

First  Mummv,  Mr.  Plowden. 

Second  Mummy,  William  Story. 

The    Charioteer,    Mr.    Richmond    (the    painter). 

The  Prima  Donna,  Mr.  Sturgess. 

Egypt,  Miss  Edie  Story. 

The  costumes  were  nothing  if  not  original.  The 
overture  a  capital  parody  by  Professor  Vera  upon  the 
Music  of  the  Future. 

Miss  Story  did  all  her  part  beautifully,  but  espe- 
cially the  concluding  lines: — 

How  deftly  arc  the  ages  planned, 

Each  following  each,  yet  none  o'erspanned. 

Wisely  the  magic  circle  wheels, 

For  each  his  age  the  wisest  feels. 

Happy  illusion !  who  would  learn 

His  wisdom  could  to  folly  turn? 

Who  feel  his  skill  could  be  surpassed? 

Who  feel  his  light  could  be  o'ercast? 

What  heart  so  brave,  what  brain  so  wise, 

As  dreams  that  aught  beyond  it  lies? 

More  wise  to  think — more  wise — more  blest — 

Superior  wisdom  but  a  jest. 

Yours,  H. 

*  Miss  Hosmer  has  coined  a  feminine  narae  from   Thespis,  the  founder  of 
the  Greek  drama. 


304.  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Again  a  year  of  work  and  play,  then  this  letter: 

Dear  Mr.  Crow:  Rome,  April  26,  1876. 

I  have  just  received  yours  of  the  7th,  and  write  to 
assure  your  paternal  heart  that  I  am  as  safe  as  ever, 
after  what,  in  anybody  else's  case,  might  have  been  cer- 
tain death,  but  with  that  singular  good  fortune  which 
ever  attends  me,  proved  to  be  nothing  more  than  a 
good  stretching.  It  was  too  awful,  though,  to  speak 
of  otherwise  than  seriously,  for  I  must  tell  you  that 
every  one  thinks  my  escape  naught  but  miraculous. 
Among  all  the  falls  I  have  had,  this  is  one  which  I, 
myself,  felt  involved  me  in  the  greatest  peril.  I  was 
in  hopes  you  would  never  hear  of  it.  Had  I  thought 
there  was  a  chance  of  your  doing  so,  I  would  have 
written  at  once  to  reassure  you,  as  indeed  I  was 
about  doing,  because  I  heard  it  was  reported  in  the 
"  Times,"  and  in  consequence  I  had  some  English 
letters. 

Well,  after  all  this  preamble  I  will  tell  you  how  it 
happened.  To  give  emphasis  to  my  words  and  also  to 
serve  to  brush  up  your  Italian,  I  give  you  the  benefit 
of  the  enclosed  account  of  the  "  Caccia/'  On  that 
Monday,  the  meet  was,  as  you  see,  at  Cecilia  Metella, 
and  I  went  out  as  cocky  as  anybody.  It  had  rained 
during  the  night,  which  probably  hastened  the  catas- 
trophe. We  had  pottered  about  for  an  hour  or  so, 
w^hen  we  got  into  a  run,  and  in  crossing  one  of  the 
gullies  which  abound  upon  the  Campagna,  the  acci- 
dent occurred.  It  is  true  that  it  was  in  hunting,  but 
it  was  not  in  jumping,  and  might  have  happened 
during  the  quietest  ride.  The  hounds  were  running 
and  I  happened  to  be  leading,  over  this  particular 
place.  There  was  a  bank  to  run  down,  and  another 
bank  to  run  up,  and  the  path  was  so  narrow  that  only 
one  could  go  at  a  time.  In  running  up  the  bank, 
Bruno  *  slipped,  and  fell  on  the  off  side,  I,  of  course, 

*  Her    favorite    hunter. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  305 

with  him.  That  wasn't  much,  of  itself,  but  what  was 
much  was  that  my  foot  caught  in  the  stirrup  and  there 
I  hung.  I  hear  you  say,  "  Never  ride  that  horse 
again,"  but,  my  dear  friend,  if  it  had  been  any  other 
horse  in  the  world  but  Bruno,  who  is  good  temper  and 
judgment  itself,  my  brains  would  have  been  dashed 
out  upon  the  spot.  As  I  say,  there  I  hung,  and  with 
every  step  the  horse  took  my  head  between  his  heels. 
It  is  awful  to  think  what  almost  any  other  horse  would 
inevitably  have  done,  but,  to  take  a  little  credit  to 
myself  (because  everybody  gives  it  me),  I  did  not 
lose  my  presence  of  mind,  but  spoke  to  him  as  I  al- 
ways do  when  I  want  him  to  stop.  Seeing  that  I 
was  not  frightened,  he  wasn't,  and  although  he  did  not 
stop  (as  this  account  says),  he  did  not  run,  but  hear- 
ing my  voice,  and  hearing  me  call  his  name,  he  almost 
turned  round  to  look  at  me  as  he  moved  on.  What 
I  feared  was  that  he  would  run,  but  din-ing  this  in- 
terval I  managed  to  turn  and  free  my  foot,  so  down  I 
came,  having,  however,  been  dragged  some  thirty 
yards.  I  expected  instant  death,  and  can  only  pro- 
nounce my  escape  as  nothing  short  of  the  miraculous. 
All  lay  in  the  horse  knowing  my  voice  so  well  and 
not  getting  frightened.  If  I  had  ever  harbored  any 
intention  of  parting  with  Bruno,  which  I  never  did, 
I  should  as  soon  think  now,  after  this  event,  of  parting 
with  my  own  flesh  and  blood.  He  had  my  life  in  his 
power,  and  his  good  sense  and  good  temper  saved  me. 
Well,  my  dear  sir,  perhaps  I  had  better  stop  here, 
but  if  I  did,  you  would  not  have  the  whole  story,  and 
you  shall  have  it  to  the  end.  Having  seen  me  safely 
deposited  on  the  ground,  Bruno  went  off  as  hard  as 
he  could,  after  the  hounds.  I  got  up,  shook  myself, 
decided  I  was  not  hurt,  and  New  *  coming  back  in 
about  five  minutes,  with  the  horse,  I  got  on,  continued 
the  run,  and  had  one  of  the  best  of  the  season;  not 

*  Her  groom. 


306  HARRIET  HOSMER 

only  that  one,  but  another,  and  did  not  get  out  of 
my  saddle  till  half  past  five  o'clock,  feeling  none 
the  worse  for  my  adventure.  The  next  morning,  how- 
ever, I  found  that  I  had  sprained  my  side  a  little,  and 
had  to  keep  quiet  a  couple  of  days,  when  a  few  mus- 
tard poultices  set  me  all  right.  I  hurt  my  shoulder,  too. 
and  feel  it  a  little  still,  but  am  only  grateful  that  it  is 
no  worse.  Those  who  witnessed  the  fall  say  it  was 
terrific,  and  I  am  glad  you  were  not  of  the  audience. 

Yours,  H. 

TO  THE  SAME. 

Dear  Pater:  Rome,  April  30.  (1876). 

I  have  j^our  letter  telling  me  of  Miss  Cushman's 
death.  Dear,  sweet  soul  she  was.  It  is  a  great  sor- 
row to  me  that  I  shall  not  see  her  again.  She  was 
one  of  my  staunchest,  truest  friends,  and  her  love  to 
me,  and  mine  to  her,  date  back  to  my  earliest  days  in 
Rome.  There  are  few  like  her.  How  her  sweet 
presence  will  be  missed!  ^  tt 

In  the  summer  Miss  Hosmer  went  as  usual  to 
England  and  among  other  visits,  in  the  autumn,  made 
one  to  the  (ex)  King  and  Queen  of  Naples.  At 
their  instance  she  sought  permission  of  Lady  War- 
wick to  take  them  to  the  historic  Castle,  and  this  is 
the  reply: 

LADY  WARWICK  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Warwick  Castle,  Nov.  25,  1876. 

The  conference  is  over,  dear  Hatty,  and  the  de- 
liberations have  not  involved  quite  so  much  thought 
as  the  Eastern  question.  My  husband  says  he  will 
be    delighted   to   receive   your   friends    and   more    es- 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  307 

pecially  yourself,  at  luncheon  on  Saturday  as  pro- 
posed. It  will  be  very  nice  getting  this  little  peep  of 
you,  and  I  am  trjang  to  overcome  my  awe  of  dis- 
tinguished foreigners.  We  will  send  carriages  to  meet 
you  at  the  station,  if  you  will  send  me  a  line  to  say 
by  what  train  you  come,  and  we  v»ill  ask  one  or  two 
friends  who  possess  a  French  tongue.  I  do  hope  the 
day  will  be  fine  and  bright,  for  our  beauty  depends 
so  much  on  sunshine.  It  has  also  occurred  to  us,  dear 
Hatty,  that  if  it  is  very  inconvenient  to  you  to  come 
this  next  week,  we  might  leave  orders  with  the  steward 
to  have  luncheon  and  receive  you  as  if  we  were  here. 
So  you  must  do  in  this  exactly  as  suits  you  best, 
though  I  own  I  should  be  very  sorrj'^  to  miss  you, 
and  a  peep  at  the  beautiful  Queen. 

Ever  yours  affectionately, 

L.  Warwick. 

Lady  Warwick  to  Miss  Hosmer  after  the  visit: 

Warwick  Castle,  Sunday,  Dec.  3,  1876. 

My  dear  Hatty: 

I  am  glad  to  have  these  letters  to  forward,  as  I 
was  particularly  wishing  for  an  excuse  to  plague  you 
with  one  from  myself,  and  at  the  same  time  to  beg 
a  favor.  We  are  regretting  that  we  did  not  petition 
their  Majesties  to  leave  their  autographs  in  our 
guest-book,  as  a  memorial  of  their,  to  us,  charming 
visit.  I  have  that  of  the  Queen  and  Prince  Consort 
in  it,  when  they  were  here  in  1858,  also  that  of  the 
Queen  of  Holland,  and  I  should  like  so  much  to  have 
the  signatures  of  their  Majesties  likewise,  if  they 
would  be  so  kind  as  to  grant  them.  If  written  on  a 
sheet  of  note  paper  and  placed  in  an  envelope  without 
folding,  they  would  do  beautifully  for  the  book.  I 
have  yours  elsewhere,  very  preciously  treasured,  but 
if  you  will  kindly  add  it  to  that  of  their  INIajesties 


308  HARRIET  HOSMER 

and  also  that  of  Monsieur  V aide-de-camp,  it  would 
complete  the  remembrance  of  yesterday's  very  pleas- 
ant day. 

I  wish  the  sun  had  shone  on  us,  and  though  we 
should  have  liked  to  show  all  possible  homage  and 
respect,  there  were  many  things  not  as  they  ought  to 
have  been,  for  our  fire  *  has  left  us  so  terribly  de- 
pourvue.  It  was  a  most  tantalizing  little  peep  of  you, 
dear  Hatty,  and  I  am  sorry  to  be  going  away  just 
now,  though  I  suppose  in  any  case  you  could  not  have 
come  to  us  at  present.  We  shall  look  forward  to  a 
real  visit  next  year. 

Believe  me  meanwhile,  with  affectionate  love  from 
us  all. 

Most  truly  yours, 

L.  Warwick. 

I  suppose  their  Majesties  would  not  add  their 
photographs?  We  are  all  greatly  impressed  with  the 
Queen's  beauty. 


TO  WAYMAN  CROW. 

T^        „  ^  Kent  House,  London. 

Dear  Pater: 

...  I  have  been  having  a  gay  time  the  last  fort- 
night and  seeing  some  pretty  sights.  I  have  been 
staying  with  the  King  and  Queen  of  Naplesf  and 
have  just  returned  from  them.  One  day  we  made 
an  excursion  to  Warwick  Castle,  where  Lord  and 
Lady  Warwick  and  family,  with  guests,  were  wait- 
ing to  receive  them,  all  in  fine  style,  and  a  pretty 
sight  it  was.     First  luncheon  served,  then  the  castle 

*  A  disastrous  fire  which  had  much    damaged    the  old    castle   some  time 
before. 

f  Who  were  then  in  England. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  309 

shown  by  Lady  Warwick  herself  and  not  by  the 
comely  housekeeper  whom  we  remember.  Two  days 
later  I  convoyed  their  JNIajesties  to  Castle  Ashby  * 
where  also  was  a  most  pretty  reception.  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

Miss  Hosmer  was  by  way  of  often  seeing  Carlyle 
while  staying  at  Kent  House,  for  accompanied  by 
his  watchful  friend  Froude  he  was  a  frequent  visitor 
there.     Upon  being  questioned  about  him  she  said: 

"  One  day  being  at  his  house  in  Cheyne  Row,  the 
conversation  turned  upon  art,  and  Carlyle,  always 
more  philosopher  than  artist,  delivered  himself  of  the 
following  original  remark: — 

"  '  Yesterday  I  visited  an  exhibition  of  Japanese 
Art,  and  there  beheld  figures  thoroughly  bestial  in 
form — Art  is  not  dead  yet.' 

"  '  Is  that  your  idea  of  art,  Mr.   Carlyle? '  said  I. 

*' '  Well,'  said  the  great  philosopher,  '  they  looked 
natural.' 

*' '  Now  that  is  the  equivalent,'  I  returned,  '  of  say- 
ing that  what  looks  natural  is  artistic.  I  thought  that 
art  meant  the  study  of  beauty  as  well  as  of  nature.'  " 

The  artist  then  went  on  to  say,  "  There  are  many 
besides  Carlyle  who  think  that  what  looks  '  natural ' 
is  not  only  admissible  but  desirable  in  art.  Some 
years  ago  two  or  three  gentlemen,  composing  a  com- 
mittee for  erecting  a  bronze  statue  of  one  of  their 
fellow  citizens,  called  upon  me  and  requested  me  to 
undertake  the  work.  '  We  want  the  very  man,'  said 
they,  '  just  as  he  looked  in  life,  and  we  will  send  you 
his  coat  and  his  trousers  and  his  boots.     He  had  the 

*  Lord  Northampton's  place. 


310  HARRIET  HOSMER 

largest  feet  of  any  one  in  our  country;  he  was  known 
by  his  large  feet.' 

"  '  Perhaps  we  might  tone  them  down  a  little,'  said 
I.  '  When  we  model  a  crooked  nose,  we  try  to 
straighten  it  a  bit;  when  we  model  a  too  large  mouth, 
we  slily  make  it  a  trifle  smaller;  in  short,  try  to  infuse 
a  little  beauty  into  our  work;  why  not  reduce  the  size 
of  the  feet  a  little? ' 

"  '  Oh  no ! '  exclaimed  they,  '  that  would  not  do  at 
all,  it  would  not  look  natural,  and  our  people  would 
sooner  look  at  his  feet  than  his  face.' 

Then,'  said  I,  '  why  go  to  the  expense  of  the 
face,  why  not  make  a  mould  upon  his  boots,  cast  the 
boots  in  bronze,  and  place  them,  alone,  upon  a  ped- 
estal ?  That  would  form  a  monument  at  once  economi- 
cal and  unique.' 

"  It  is  probable  that  my  suggestion  displeased  the 
committee,  for  I  have  never  heard  anything  more  of 
the  statue  from  that  day  to  this." 

Then  she  added,  "  When  we  look  around  and  con- 
sider the  matter,  how  many  objects  which  surround 
us  in  our  daily  lives,  and  which  look  '  natural '  to  us, 
are  beautiful?  How  many  could  we  safely  introduce 
into  art?  Think  what  advantages  the  old  Greeks 
enjoyed  in  that  respect!  Their  eyes  could  rarely  rest 
upon  an  unlovely  object.  Their  attire  was  grace  it- 
self. The  athletes  in  the  arena  supplied  the  splendid 
models  which  have  come  down  to  us  as  the  Apollo, 
as  the  Campidoglio  Faun,  as  the  Dying  and  the 
Fighting  Gladiators,  as  the  Laocoon,  as  the  Mercury 
and  Mars  in  repose,  and  others.  Every  article  of 
furniture  with  them  was  an  object  of  beauty;  their 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  311 

race  the  finest  that  the  world  has  ever  seen;  their 
very  sun  the  most  resplendent;  and  beauty  was  their 
chief  delight." 

These  words  of  the  artist  show  that,  like  her  master, 
she  was  a  devout  disciple  of  Grecian  art.  Schooled 
by  Gibson,  her  taste  was  formed  upon  the  Greek 
models.  To  her  they  were  the  highest  development  of 
beauty.  Her  own  works  were  modernized  by  her 
own  originality,  but  they  still  retained  the  grace  and 
perfection  of  the  Grecian  outlines,  and  she  has  left 
some  of  the  purest  modern  examples  of  Greek  art. 


After  the  winter  of  1876-77,  the  summer  again 
found  Miss  Hosmer  in  England  and  among  other 
visits  she  made  one  to  Wilton  House,  the  seat  of  the 
Earl  of  Pembroke  and  Montgomery,  whose  wife  (as 
Lady  Gertrude  Talbot)  had  been  one  of  her  earliest 
friends  in  Rome.  Here  were  gathered,  among  others, 
Lady  Ashburton,  her  daughter  the  Hon.  Miss  Baring, 
afterward  IVIarchioness  of  Northampton,  the  Stuart- 
Wortleys,  the  Herberts,  and  Earl  and  Lady  Brown- 
low,  this  last  a  sister  of  Lady  Pembroke  and  famed 
throughout  England  for  her  beauty;  she,  too,  was  a 
friend  of  the  early  Roman  days.  It  is  to  be  regretted 
that  no  letters  of  this  interesting  visit  are  available, 
for  the  artist  was  wont  to  call  Wilton  "  perhaps  the 
most  classic  place  in  all  England."  It  may  be  re- 
called tliat  this  home  of  the  Herberts  existed  for  some 
centuries  as  the  Abbey  of  Wilton,  till  it  fell  to  Henry 
VIII.,  who  bestowed  it  upon  tlie  Herberts.  Its  rare 
architectural    beauties   and   its   accumulated   treasures 


312  HARRIET  HOSMER 

of  art  appealed  most  forcibly  to  the  artist.  The 
present  building  has  grown  from  the  early  monastery, 
of  which  the  picturesque  cloisters  and  the  massive 
walls  still  remain,  into  the  noble  pile  enriched  by 
many  famous  artists  and  men  of  genius.  Holbein 
designed  the  portion  known  as  the  "  Holbein  front." 
Inigo  Jones  built  the  stately  drawing-rooms,  among 
them  two  of  marvellous  proportions — one  called  the 
"  double  cube  "  room,  because  built  in  the  shape  of 
a  double  cube,  with  lofty  painted  ceiling  and  walls 
entirely  lined  with  Vandykes,  some  of  them  said  to 
be  the  finest  things  that  painter  ever  did.  The  other 
room,  half  the  size,  but  of  like  proportions,  is  known 
as  the  "  single  cube "  room,  and  the  walls  are  also 
covered  widi  full-length  family  portraits  by  Van- 
dj^ke.  The  bridge  by  Palladio  is  easily  to  be  seen 
(and  never  to  be  forgotten)  from  the  windows  of  the 
mansion,  also  the  Italian  garden,  and  the  group  of 
venerable  cedars  of  Lebanon,  said  to  be  the  first 
ever  planted  in  England. 

In  returning  from  Wilton  House,  Miss  Hosmer 
visited  "  Broadlands,"  the  former  home  of  Lord 
Palmerston,  his  beautiful  place  in  Hampshire.  It 
was  then  the  residence  of  Mr.  Cowper-Temple,  the 
nephew  of  Lady  Palmerston,  and  interesting  because 
of  its  wonderful  collection  of  pictures  by  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  called,  perhaps,  the  largest  and  finest  in 
England. 


CHAPTER  XI 

1878-1888 

Miss  Hosmer  returned  to  her  studio  for  another 
busy  winter,  and  writes: 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 
^^^^  ^.  Rome,  May  23,  1878. 

Yes,  that  visit  to  Melchet  Court  *  was  certainly 
a  bit  of  rosy  light,  a  fortnight  never  to  be  forgotten 
by  us  and  never  to  cease  thanking  our  beloved  hostess  t 
for. 

You  ask  if  I  know  Lord  Houghton.  Yes,  don't  I 
know  and  love  him?  He  is  one  of  my  particular  pals, 
full  of  fun,  of  knowledge  and  of  kindness.  I  shall 
never  forget  meeting  him  at  Brahan  Castle  when  he 
rose  (the  room  full  of  company)  as  I  entered,  and, 
putting  both  arms  round  me,  kissed  me  first  on  one 
cheek  and  then  on  the  other.  I  said  it  was  a  "  Roman 
custom,"    and   we   laughed   well.  .  .  . 

Brahan  Castle  was  the  very  quaint  old  home  of 
Lady  Ashburton's  mother,  Mrs.  Stewart  Mackenzie, 
the  daughter  of  Lord  Seaforth.  She  was  the  original 
of  Walter  Scott's  Ellen,  in  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake," 
and  she  was  a  great  friend  of  his.  This  Castle  is 
within  a  few  miles  of  Loch  Luichart  Lodge,  and  in 

*  Two   of    Miss    Hosmer's    fountains,    Ttie    Mermaid's    Cradle     and   The 
Dolphin,  are  in  Ihc    Italian   garden  here. 
f  Lady   Ashburton. 

313 


314  HARRIET  HOSMER 

other  days  its  hospitality  was  often  claimed  for  over- 
flow guests  from  the  Lodge.  Of  the  ancient  Castle 
many  interesting  legends  remain  and  one  curious 
mystery  is  said  never  to  have  been  solved.  One  of  the 
windows  (visible  in  the  picture)  has  apparently  no 
inlet  to  the  building.  It  is  said  that  repeated  search- 
ings  have  not  revealed  any  opening  into  room  or 
closet  in  the  old  masonry  to  correspond  with  this  very 
real  window  to  be  seen  in  the  outside  wall  half  con- 
cealed by  ivy.  The  secret  chambers  and  staircases, 
the  underground  ways  and  subterranean  outlets,  all 
add  to  the  fascinations  of  this  venerable  pile. 

The  artist  went  again  to  England  in  the  summer, 
where  she  received  this  letter: 

MRS.  SARTORIS  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Warsash,  Titchfield, 

Thursday,  26th  Sep.,  1878. 
My  dearest  Hatty: 

What  is  this  which  Hardinge  writes  me?  That  you 
have  given  your  wretched  skull  another  knock  against 
a  chimney-piece  and  have  been  laid  up  again  at  Lady 
Marian's?  My  dear  little  Hat,  I  am  so  troubled 
about  j'^our  precious  pate  that  the  anxiety  quite  for  the 
moment  swamps  my  vexation  at  not  seeing  you. 
You  can't  think  how  disappointed  dear  Lord  Lyons 
was.  You  would,  I'm  sure,  have  been  touched  if  you 
could  have  seen  how  he  watched  the  arrival  hours  of 
the  trains,  which,  alas,  came  in  one  after  another  with 
no  Hatty!  He  himself  is  a  model  of  true  friend- 
ship, for  he  actually  took  an  excursion  train  which 
was  two  hours  longer  on  the  road  than  the  regular 
ones,   in   order   to   get   here  a   little   earlier.     Rhoda 


w 

< 
U 

< 
< 

25 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  315 

Broughton  is  here  too,  it  was  their  introduction  to 
each  other,  and  has,  on  both  sides,  proved  eminently 
successful. 

How  can  you  ask  if  you  may  come  back.  Don't 
you  know  how  welcome  you  are  here?  By  all  means 
come  whenever  you  can,  dear,  and  for  as  long  a  time 
as  you  can,  for  I  am  indeed, 

Your  affectionate  old  friend, 

Adelaide  Sartoris. 

P.S.  We  have  been  blowing  up  all  the  old  Roman 
ashes  with  many  a  sigh  of  tender  regret.  Write 
directly  how  you  are  and  what  really  has  happened. 

Your  A. 

While  in  England  came  this  letter  in  answer  to  one 
asking  about  a  certain  artist: 

SIR  WILLIAM  BOXALL  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

OvERSTONE  Park,  Northampton,  Oct.   (1878). 

My  dear  Hatty: 

Your  welcome  letter,  without  date,  came  to  me  on 
Friday  when  I  arrived  in  London.  I  had  been  away 
for  some  days,  and  left  London  again  for  this  place 
on  Saturday. 

I  am  growing  so  old  that  I  have  no  power  over 
time,  and  I  cannot  longer  take  the  old  fellow  by 
the  "  forelock,"  so  that  he  has  become  my  master. 
Added  to  this,  I  found  myself  unable  to  help  you  as 
to  the  choice  of  such  an  artist  as  would  suit.  It  was, 
you  must  know,  no  easy  matter  for  me,  generally  a 
solitary  prisoner,  I  have  lost  the  chance  of  meeting 
such  a  ''  rara  avis  "  as  would  be  really  required.  When 
are  you  likely  to  be  in  London?  You  know  what 
pleasure  it  would  give  me  to  meet  you  there,  and  we 
then  could  talk  over  the  matter. 


316  HARRIET  HOSMER 

I  am  wandering  out  of  London  to  find  the  days 
and  spirit  of  my  youth,  but  I  have  no  hope.  An 
unlucky  contretemps  prevented  me  from  going  to 
Ottery  on  Saturday,  and  as  I  had  heard  an  unauthen- 
ticated  story  that  a  siren  of  great  loveHness  was  to 
be  seen  delighting  the  waters  of  Seton,  I  had  re- 
solved to  pay  a  visit  to  her  so  bright  and  phenomenal, 
if  only  for  an  hour,  but  I  was  summoned  back  to 
Welbeck.  Thus  I  am  now  here  for  four  or  five 
days.  Pray  let  me  hear  from  you,  and  let  me  know 
if  you  are  as  happy  as  ever.  If  you  really  remain 
at  Seton  it  is  most  probable  that  in  the  beginning 
of  next  month  I  must  go  to  Ottery  to  see  my  friend 
Sir  John  Coleridge.  He  is  one  of  my  oldest  and 
best  friends,  and  is  in  his  86th  year.  Before  he  leaves 
this  world  I  must  see  him. 

Forgive  this  stupid  letter,  and  pray  let  me  hear 
from  you. 

Yours  affectionately, 

W.    BOXALL. 

After  rather  more  than  a  year.  Lady  Eastlake 
wrote : 

TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

7  FiTZROY  Square,  29  Jan.,  1880. 
My  dear  Hattie: 

It  is  long  since  you  have  seen  my  handwriting,  tho' 
I  have  seen  yours,  when  I  have  missed  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you.  .  .  .  You  will  have  heard  all  there  is  to 
hear  of  our  dear  old  Sir  William  Boxall,  from  Mary 
Boyle,  whom  I  kept  supplied.  I  can  say  that  I  am 
glad  he  is  at  rest.  The  unrest  has  been  great, 
though  it  subsided  in  the  last  few  days.  He  had 
genius  and  was  a  man  of  independent  thought,  with 
part  of  two  natures  in  him;  the  one  gentle  and  help- 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  317 

less,  the  other  most  determined.  He  was  one  of  the 
few  human  creatures  I  have  known  who  did  not  care 
a  straw  about  money.  I  have  lost  an  old  friend  in 
him.  By  the  way,  there  is  your  portrait,  and  a 
capital  one,  left  in  his  painting  room.  It  was  painted 
for   the   otJier   dear   master,    who,    I    suppose,    never 

claimed  it.     Mrs.  ,  his  niece,  would,  I  know, 

be  glad  that  you  should  have  it. 

My  history  is  too  long  since  we  met,  so  I  won't 
begin  it.  The  latter  part  of  it  is  wrapped  in  darkness, 
for  the  sun  has  hardly  shone  here  for  three  months. 
For  once  we  have  had  those  fogs  which  foreigners  do 
us  the  honor  to  think  we  have  always  and  all  the  year 
round.  I  am  tired  of  cold  and  gloom,  but  I  shall 
never  leave  England  again,  except  for  the  final 
Happy  Land,  for  which  I  am  getting  rather  im- 
patient. Now,  dear  Hattie,  I  kiss  you  warmly,  and 
I  am  ever  your  affectionate  old  friend, 

Elizabeth  Eastlake. 

The  death  of  Miss  Hosmer's  lifelong  friend,  Mr. 
Wayman  Crow,  on  May  10,  1885,  came  as  her  great- 
est sorrow.  From  this  time  records  of  her  life  are 
even  more  broken  and  fragmentary.  Work  and  play 
succeeded  each  other  as  fancy  dictated,  and  it  needs 
not  to  chronicle  more  than  a  small  portion  of  the  years 
that  were  passed  happily  among  friends  alternately  in 
her  English  and  in  her  American  homes,  with  an 
occasional  return  to   Rome. 

After  another  sad  loss,  the  artist  writes: 


318  HARRIET  HOSMER 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 

Ti^  J,  r.  London,  April  13,  1888. 

.  .  .  Yes,  dear  Lady  Marian's  death  was  the  most 
painful  shock  to  all  of  us.  It  seems  impossible  that 
we  shall  see  her  no  more.  I  do  not  think  any  of  us 
yet  realize  that  she  is  gone.  She  filled  so  large  a 
space  in  so  many  lives,  that  her  death  robs  many  of 
their  kindest  friend  and  sympathizer.  I  lost  the  old- 
est friend  I  had  in  England,  when  I  lost  her.  She 
was  ill  barely  twenty-four  hours,  and  the  stroke  of 
paralysis,  which  proved  fatal  to  her,  rendered  her 
unconscious  from  the  first.  In  all  the  years  I  knew 
her,  she  was  my  fast  and  true  friend.  .  .  . 

Your  H. 

Lady  Marian  Alford,  one  of  Miss  Hosmer's  most 
appreciative  and  generous  patrons,  was  both  artist 
and  writer.  To  her  fostering  care  The  School  of 
Art  Needlework  at  South  Kensington  owes  its  es- 
tablishment. Her  volume  "  Needlework  as  an  Art " 
is  well  known.  In  her  conservatory  at  Alford  House, 
Prince's  Gate,  London,  is  placed  Miss  Hosmer's 
Fountain,  with  the  nymph  sitting  aloft  and  piping 
to  the  water-babies  below,  who  sport  in  their  marble 
basin  among  the  broad  leaves  of  aquatic  plants.  As 
they  listen,  you  listen,  the  water  making  a  musical 
tinkle,  a  slumberous  murmur,  the  whole  a  poem. 

Competition  being  opened  for  the  Crerar  Lincoln 
Monument  in  Chicago,  a  design  and  model  were  sub- 
mitted by  Miss  Hosmer  and  she  received  the  following 
letter  from  one  of  the  Committee: 

"  I   cannot   refrain   from   congratulating   you,   and 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  319 

most  heartily,  upon  your  model  for  the  Monument. 
Prepared  as  I  was  for  the  best  result,  I  was  yet 
astonished  at,  and  delighted  with,  the  great  dignity, 
nobility,  and  poetic  ideality  of  the  composition.  Of 
the  figure  of  the  Sibyl  I  had  heard  the  highest  com- 
mendation already,  from  Lady  Ashburton  who  de- 
clared it  to  be  the  finest  modern  statue  she  knew. 
In  this  encomium  I  most  heartily  join  and  the  whole 
group  is  really  an  inspiration." 

Miss  Hosmer  herself  once  said:  "  By  far  my  great- 
est effort  is  the  one  which  I  have  partially  completed, 
The  African  Sibyl  foreshadowing  the  freedom  of 
her  race.  It  is  colossal  in  proportions  as  the  figure, 
if  standing,  would  measure  fully  eleven  feet  in  height. 
An  African  maiden  is  seated  with,  on  her  left  arm, 
a  scroll.  The  right  hand  is  finishing  the  last  word  of 
Lincoln's  famous  utterance :  '  If  slavery  is  not  wrong, 
nothing  is  wrong.'  Her  face  is  just  sufficiently 
averted  for  her  eyes  to  rest  on  the  words.  Clinging 
to  her  knee  is  a  negro  boy,  his  face  brightening  as  he 
reads  the  handwriting,  and  his  shackles  just  fallen 
from  his  arms,  are  lying  broken  on  the  ground.  This 
I  consider  the  triumph  of  my  desire  to  incorporate 
classic  beauty  of  outline  and  grace  with  a  modern 
subject,  in  a  manner  that  will,  at  a  glance,  tell  its 
own  story.  It  is  a  foundation  on  which  to  erect  the 
new  school  which  has  been  my  constant  dream.  .  .  . 
Browning  came  to  me  for  a  photograph  of  this  group 
to  show  to  Tennyson,  who  said,  '  It  is  the  most  poetic 
rendering  in  art,  of  a  great  historical  truth,  I  have 
ever  seen.'  " 

Another  friend  of  the  sculptor  writes  a  description 
of  the  design  and  its  motive  which  is  entirely  sym- 
pathetic, as  follows: 


320  HARRIET  HOSMER 

"  When  addressing  the  Chicago  Women's  Club, 
Miss  Hosmer  dwelt  upon  the  value  of  persistent  work, 
without  which  no  great  results  could  be  achieved. 
This  design  of  hers  furnishes  the  most  striking  illus- 
tration of  the  truth  of  her  assertion,  for  it  tells  of 
steady  and  well-directed  effort.  The  result  of  her 
labors  is  a  revelation.  The  artist  has  succeeded  in 
solving  that  most  difficult  problem,  the  treatment  of  a 
modern  subject  in  a  poetic  manner. 

In  this  group  she  has  created  an  ideal  work,  em- 
bodying a  lofty  conception  of  a  great  National  theme, 
in  a  manner  to  stir  all  hearts.  It  tells  its  own  story 
in  simple  and  impressive  style. 

The  thought  pre-eminent  in  the  sculptor's  mind 
is  Lincoln,  the  emancipator  and  martyr.  The  figure 
of  Lincoln  dominates  the  group;  his  earnest  gaze  is 
resting  upon  a  figure  placed  upon  a  pedestal  some- 
what lower  than  his  own.  The  inscription  beneath 
his  figure,  '  God  Sent  Me  a  Vision,'  supplies  the  key- 
note to  the  whole  composition. 

The  figure  which  the  vision  unfolds  to  him  is  that 
of  the  African  Sibyl,  seeress  and  prophetess,  fore- 
shadowing the  freedom  of  her  race.  The  idea  sug- 
gested by  the  vision  is  dawning  upon  his  mind. 
While  the  artist  has  faithfully  reproduced  his  well- 
known  features,  they  appear  idealized  by  the  force  and 
grandeur  of  the  thought  which  illuminates  them  and 
which  he  soon  will  translate  into  action.  In  spite  of 
the  attitude  of  repose,  the  figure  expresses  a  world 
of  energy.  Through  the  vision  of  the  Sibyl,  the  idea 
of  freedom  for  the  slave  awakens  in  his  mind,  and 
the  possibilities  of  the  race  are  revealed  to  him. 

The  Sibyl  lifts  her  eyes  to  Lincoln,  and  divining  the 
thought  awakened  in  his  mind,  inscribes  upon  her 
tablets  the  now  classic  words :  '  If  slavery  is  not  wrong, 
nothing  is  wrong.'  She  is  clothed  in  a  tiger-skin, 
typical  of  a  ruder  civilization,  and  wears  a  head-dress 


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THE  AFRICAN   SIBYL 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  321 

into  which  are  introduced  elephant  tusks,  indicating 
the  Orient.  Grand,  with  all  the  possibilities  of  her 
race  embodied  in  her  powerful  frame,  and  all  the  hope 
of  the  future  expressed  in  her  countenance,  she  fore- 
sees the  triumph  soon  to  come. 

Clasping  her  knees  a  negro  child  in  chains,  sj^m- 
bolizing  the  degradation  and  suffering  of  the  race, 
looks  pleadingly  into  the  face  of  the  liberator,  with 
an  expression  so  pathetic  that  it  brings  the  tears  to 
our  eyes.  The  child,  as  if  by  instinct,  perceives  in 
the  faces  of  Lincoln  and  the  Sibyl  the  hope  and 
promise  of  freedom. 

To  the  left  of  the  monument,  upon  a  pedestal  sim- 
ilar to  that  of  the  Sibyl,  reclines  the  figure  of  Mourn- 
ing Victory  with  averted  face  and  head  bowed  down 
in  sorrow;  foreseeing  the  dearlj^-bought  triumph,  she 
casts  her  veil  over  her  insignia,  the  trumpet  and  the 
laurel  crown.  The  drooping  wings  and  attitude  of 
grief  form  a  marked  contrast  to  the  inspired  look  of 
hope  on  the  face  of  the  Sibyl.  As  we  look  upon  it  we 
seem  to  hear  in  the  far  distance  the  muffled  roll  of 
drums  and  the  funeral  dirge,  a  Nation's  sorrow  for 
its  illustrious  dead. 

The  African  Sibyl  in  her  strength  and  grandeur, 
does  not  possess  ideal  beauty  in  the  Greek  sense.  The 
Victory,  in  her  majestic  beauty,  i3resents  to  us  the 
purest  Grecian  type  in  all  its  refinement  and  nobility." 

Later  during  a  visit  in  America,  INIiss  Hosmer  was 
tempted  further  West,  and  wrote: 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 

T^        ^  Denver.  Colorado,  June  20,  1889. 

Dear  C  : 

I    thought    I    would    do    a    h'ttle    skipping,    and    so 

skipped   out  to  Denver,   a   sudden   move,   but    I    had 


322  HARRIET  HOSMER 

been  greatly  urged  to  come  and  give  some  "  Art 
Talks  "  to  the  miiversity  students  here,  so  telegraphing 
my  reply,  started  after  twenty-four  hours'  preparation. 
We  travelled  two  nights  and  one  day  (from  Chicago), 
arriving  on  Saturday  morning.  On  Saturday  evening 
I  appeared  before  my  audience,  without  the  faintest 
preparation.  However,  they  said  the  whole  thing 
went  off  well,  even  to  my  bestowal  of  prizes  upon 
the  art  students.  The  next  day  I  gave  another  very 
informal  art  talk,  to  two  or  three  hundred  more  stu- 
dents, and  the  following  Monday  went  off  to  Lead-> 
ville. 

There  I  was  taken  in  as  partner  in  a  gold  mine, 
and  then  and  there  presented  with  shares  of  stock  in 
it!  We  had  a  charming  party,  and  returned  on 
Wednesday.  On  Thursday  we  went  into  the  heart 
of  the  Rockies,  up  the  Loop,  a  wonderful  journey, 
but  here  comes  a  pause.  Owing  probably  to  a  chill 
I  got  on  the  way,  I  took  to  my  bed  on  returning, 
and  when  I  tell  you  that  for  several  days  the  doctor 
came  three  times  a  day,  you  may  know  I  was  pretty 
ill.  In  fact,  I  did  not  know  how  ill,  until  trying 
now  to  pull  up  again.  Everybody  is  kindness  itself, 
and  they  send  me  the  loveliest  flowers,  but  I  have 
missed  all  the  hospitalities  which  had  been  arranged 
for  me,  the  reception  of  Mrs.  Evans  (the  governor's 
wife)   among  the  rest. 

A  copy  of  my  African  Sibyl  is  wanted  here. 

Your  H. 

Later  occurs  a  page  in  Miss  Hosmer's  own  hand: 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 
buried  in  Florence     June     1861. 

Robert  Browning 
buried   in   Westminster  Abbey   December    1889. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  323 

"  Parted  by  death,"  we  say — they,  in  that  land 
Where  suns  spring,  blossom  and  decay, 
Crowned  with  the  halo  of  a  new  content, 
Our  little  planet  in  the  firmament 
All  lost  to  view,  smile  at  our  words, 
And  hand  in  hand  wend  their  eternal  way. 

Haeeiet  Hosmee. 


CHAPTER  XII 

1891-1908 

LADY  ALWYNE  COMPTON  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

The  Palace,  Ely,  Feb.  16,  1891. 

Dearest  Hatty: 

Your  letter  was  a  delight,  all  sweet  with  old  mem- 
ories, that  will  rise  as  we  talk  or  think  of  each  other, 
like  the  sweet  scent  of  violets  when  we  rode  in  that 
wood  at  Lunghezza.  The  sky,  the  hills,  the  sunset 
lights  are  there,  but  I  fear  you  will  agree  with  Dr. 
Luard,  who  told  me  the  other  day  that  you  must  go 
six  miles  from  Rome  to  find  Rome.  The  Storys  are 
there,  to  remember  with  you,  but  otherwise  I  think 
you  must  feel  like  a  ghost,  a  ''  revenante."  I  wish, 
but  dare  not  hope,  you  could  find  time  to  talk  to  me 
a  little.  I  trust  you  may  be  too  busy  and  too  full  of 
work  to  feel  the  changes  that,  by  all  I  hear,  have 
furnished  Rome  with  commonplace  streets  by  the 
yard.  But  there  is  still  some  Campagna,  for  a  lady 
who  has  just  been  here  told  me  that  not  long  ago 
she  went  to  the  top  of  the  Coliseum,  and  as  she  was 
gazing  over  the  Campagna  and  the  Appian  Way,  she 
heard  a  stout  American  lady,  who  had  puffed  up 
behind  her,  say:  "What  a  vast  country  there  is  yet 
unbuilt!" 

We  are  hard  at  work,  Lou,  Florence,  and  I,  copy- 
ing letters  written  by  Alwyne's  mother  when  she  was 
about  nineteen.  They  are  wonderful,  brimming  over 
with  life  and  fun  and  cleverness.     They  are  letters; 

324 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  325 

one  of  them  has  filled  twenty  square  pages  of  my 
writing.  Every  now  and  then  she  writes  pages  in 
Italian,  and  quotes  Dante,  Petrarch,  Ariosto,  and 
Tasso,  and  her  dream  was  always  to  go  to  Italy.  The 
last  of  her  letters  tells  of  her  marriage,  and  she  says: 
"Do  you  know,  through  all  the  engagement,  who 
has  been  father,  sister,  brother,  uncle,  everything  to 
me?  Walter  Scott!"  I  am  glad  I  saw  the  Villa 
Negroni,  where  they  lived,  and  where  she  died,  be- 
fore it  was  effaced  by  the  railway  station. 

We  have  some  letters  of  Aunt  Aima  Jane,  too,  writ- 
ten from  Rome  the  year  after  her  sister  died  (1831). 
Alwyne  *  was  five,  and  sometimes  they  talked  of  his 
being  a  clergyman;  "  but  if  ever  he  is,"  she  says,  '*  I'll 
eat  my  books,  it  will  be  a  curious  concern."  She 
thinks  he  is  too  fond  of  dress  and  too  anxious  to  be 
a  soldier! 

Meanwhile,  being  a  bishop,  he  sends  you  his  "  dear 
love  "  and  says  he  had  much  rather  have  seen  you  than 
to  have  had  your  messages.  You  really  must  come, 
or  we  shall  be  so  old  you  will  not  know  us.  You 
will  be  like  the  little  boy,  who,  when  he  saw  an  old 
photograph  of  me  said,  "  Was  that  really  you?  You 
were  ten  times  as  pretty  then/' 

Did  you  find  your  Queen  of  Naples,  after  all  these 
years,  still  watching  in  her  cloak?  I  can  hardly  be- 
lieve you  have  never  been  at  Castle  Ashby  since  that 
day,  the  darkest  and  rainiest  we  ever  had  there.  The 
life  there  seems  so  very  far  away  now  and  one  misses 
Marian  and  so  do  you,  I  know,  always  more  and 
more.  The  last  service  she  attended  was  in  the  cathe- 
dral here.  I  do  not  believe  you  have  ever  seen  it,  and 
you  cannot  think  how  beautiful  it  is. 

Will  you  be  like  an  Indian  native  lady  who  re- 
gretted   that    she    could    not    accept    an    invitation 

•The    Bishop    of   Ely. 


326  HARRIET  HOSMER 

to   a   party,   "  on   account   of   inexplicable   inconven- 
lence    f 

Good-by,  dearest  Hattie. 

Always  your  very  affectionate, 

Florence  Compton. 

The  choir  boys,  at  their  supper  here,  after  acting 
the  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  gave  us  this  riddle: 

"  My  first  is  a  great  friend ; 
My  second  is  in  a  pack  of  cards ; 
My  whole  is  where  boys  like  to  come. 

"  Pal-ace." 

Again  work  takes  the  artist  back  to  Rome,  where 
this  letter  came  to  her; 

RosLAND,  Hampstead,  June  8,  1892. 

My  dear  Miss  Hosmer: 

This  capricious  English  weather  sends  one  back 
regretfully  to  those  delightful  Roman  days,  to  enjoy 
once  more  the  great  bath  of  sunlight  on  one  of  the 
Seven  Hills,  to  smell  the  mint  and  thyme  as  we  tramp 
over  the  Campagna  with  Augustus  Hare  and  his 
Toynebee  Hall  contingent, — or  see  the  great  bunches 
of  roses  hanging  on  the  walls  of  William  Story's 
Studio  garden,  as  if  it  were  the  end  of  June  instead 
of  April,  or  look  down  upon  the  city  from  the  Colonna 
Gardens  and  feel  the  delicious  fragrance  of  the  orange 
flowers  lulling  like  an  opiate,  every  tired  nerve. 

How  is  the  Mermaid  getting  on?  She  is  not 
only  in  herself  very  unique  and  original,  but  she 
is  very  characteristic  of  you,  she  possesses  that  subtle 
charm  which  separates  you  from  most  of  the  sculp- 
tors of  our  day.  I  went  to  the  Royal  Academy  yes- 
terday and  staid  just  fifteen  minutes.  I  did  not  want 
to  stay  longer  and  came  away  feeling  that  Emerson 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  327 

was  quite  right  when  he  said,  "  the  day  of  sculpture 
is  over;  it  is  fit  only  to  be  the  handmaid  of  Architec- 
ture." But  I  did  not  feel  so  when  looking  upon  your 
Mermaid  Fountain  in  your  studio.  There  was  the 
charm  of  the  woman  first.  She  is  very  beautiful  and 
striking  and  there  is  the  mother  brooding  over  the 
happy,  sleeping  baby  and  as  Michael  Angelo's  critic 
said  of  his  Night,  "  Since  she  sleeps,  she  lives  " — and 
there  is  the  song  she  sings,  (or  pipes)  to  him,  it  is  the 
"  unheard  melody  "  which  Keats  said,  is  sweeter  than 
those  heard,  and  that  ingenious  idea  of  his  sleeping  in 
the  curled-up  tail,  adds  just  the  little  touch  of  earth- 
liness  which  gives  him  the  charm  of  the  sea  and 
separates  him  from  our  work-a-day  world,  as  your 
Sleeping  Faun  has  the  spell  of  the  forest  upon  him. 
Whoever  gazes  at  them  in  those  beautiful  gardens 
of  Melchet,  will  get  a  moment's  rest  from  care,  a  bath 
in  the  Fountain  of  Beauty,  and  from  the  enchanted 
waters  come  like  Achilles,  "arrow-proof  and  brave"; 
that,  I  take  it,  is  the  principal  office  of  beauty  here. 
Did  I  tell  you  what  Mark  Twain  said  that  day,  of 
the  Sleeping  Faun?  "  I  have  generally  observed  that 
the  artist  had  a  particular  point  from  which  he  wants 
you  to  look  at  his  work  and  from  that  point  it  looks 
well,  but  this,  I  find,  looks  well  from  all  points."  .  .  . 

Yours, 

C.  S.  P. 
A  friend  said: 

"  In  a  winter  twilight  two  or  three  years  ago,  the 
interesting  possibilities  of  latent  impressions  were 
touched  upon,  and  ^liss  Hosmer  related  how,  once, 
in  her  early  youth,  soon  after  going  abroad,  a  merry 
party  of  friends  proposed  to  make  the  journey  on 
horseback,  by  night,  from  Rome  to  Florence,  a  dis- 
tance requiring  some  three  nights.  This  ride,  taken 
for    '  a    lark,'    as    Miss    Hosmer    said — and    said    as 


328  HARRIET  HOSMER 

merrily  as  a  girl  of  sixteen,  and  with  an  air  of  not 
being  even  at  sixty,  in  the  least  averse  to  '  a  lark ' — 
was    taken    in    a    perfect    effervescence    of    festivity. 

*  But  through  all  the  nights  as  we  rode,'   she  said, 

*  I  was  watching  the  fascinating  effects  of  light  and 
shade.  The  way  the  stars  twinkled  through  the 
leafy  boughs  of  the  forest;  the  wonderful  play  of 
light  and  shadow  in  the  silhouettes  of  the  trees  cast 
on  the  turf  in  the  open  spaces;  and  what,'  she  ques- 
tioned, in  her  eager,  bird-like  way, — '  what  do  you 
suppose  I  have  done  with  those  stored-up  impressions 
of  more  than  thirty  years  ago?  I  hardly  realized  that 
I  had  them,  but  I  have  worked  them  all  into  the 
design  for  my  Gates.' 

It  is  a  most  interesting  instance  of  the  way  impres- 
sions lie  latent  in  the  brain  of  the  artist,  to  start  up 
like  writing  in  sympathetic  ink  when  the  magic  of 
occasion  touches  the  spring." 

In  1891  Miss  Hosmer  received  the  commission  for 
her  statue  of  Queen  Isabella.  This  she  executed  in 
Rome  and  returning  to  the  United  States  in  1894  she 
went  to  San  Francisco  to  unveil  it.  From  there  she 
writes : 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 

j^        ^  Oakland,  Cal.,  Mar.  8,  1894. 

Day  after  day  and  night  after  night,  I  have  wanted 
to  write,  yet  every  minute  seems  more  than  filled. 
People  are  generally  kind  to  me  everywhere,  but 
never  have  I  been  so  spoiled  as  here.  It  is  impossible 
to  tell  you  how  hospitable  the  people  are,  and  the 
longer  I  stay,  the  more  so  they  grow.  Dinners,  lunch- 
eons, breakfasts,  speeches,  club  receptions,  everything 
delightful.     I  have  such  a  large  circle  of  friends  that 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  329 

it  seems  I  must  have  lived  here  all  my  life.     I  heartily 
wish  you  had  been  here  for  the  unveiling. 

I  have  invitations  from  all  parts  of  California,  and 
nothing  but  time  limits  my  movements.  I  shall  leave 
here  for  the  East  again  at  the  end  of  the  month. 

Your  H. 

The  following  letter  from  San  Francisco  voices  the 
general  feeling  of  those  most  interested  in  obtaining 
the  statue  of  the  Castilian  Queen  for  their  city;  and 
the  description  is  vividly  true: 

My  dear  Miss  Hosmer: 

May  I  express  the  deep  gratitude  felt  for  your 
Queen  Isabella?  Her  greatness  grows  upon  one. 
With  rare  gift  you  tell  us  so  much  that  speaks  to 
our  highest  sense  with  no  ordinary  power. 

You  have  given  us  an  Isabella  Victrix!  She  is 
indeed  a  Queen,  but  she  is  also  a  Victory,  even  as 
the  Venus  of  JNIilo  is  a  Victory.  Isabella,  standing 
as  she  does,  the  representative  of  all  that  is  best  in 
the  ideal  queen,  unites  kinghood  and  womanhood, 
and  is  the  embodiment  of  triumphant  thought,  of 
Victory.  Upon  the  cushion  at  her  feet  Columbus 
knelt,  as  with  weary  and  sinking  heart  he  pleaded 
his  cause.  The  attentive  eye  lends  him  new  courage. 
He  tells  his  strange,  fascinating  tale  of  lands  beyond 
the  seas,  reiterating  his  logical  theories  of  the  Indies 
touched  by  strange  waters,  as  yet  existing  only  in 
his  imagination.  A  land  of  pomegranates  and  spices, 
with  continents  to  the  West  bathed  in  perpetual  sun- 
shine, gilded  with  mines  of  gold  and  outlined  by 
rivers  of  precious  stones;  a  new  kingdom  for  the 
Cross  so  recently  triumphant  in  Granada.  The  Queen 
listens,  the  spicy  breezes  touch  her  brow,  her  poetic 
and  spiritual  nature  are  stirred,  until  heart,  brain, 
and   noble    resolve    crystallize   into   action,    and    that 


330  HARRIET  HOSMER 

supreme  moment  you  have  placed  before  us!  Its 
inspiration  penetrates  her  whole  being,  she  rises  from 
her  throne,  places  her  right  foot  upon  the  step,  while 
the  left  one  is  held  firmly  to  the  spot  of  inspiration, 
unwilling  for  the  moment  to  take  a  common  step; 
but  with  latent  energy  of  action  stayed,  there  is  yet 
a  spring  that  sends  its  power  throughout  the  figure, 
reaching  forward  and  compassing  the  centuries.  Four 
hundred  years,  marking  triumph  and  victory,  were 
present  then  as  now.  The  birth  of  the  idea  was  the 
victorious  moment.  The  past  and  the  present  join. 
The  dream  and  its  realization,  the  pledge  and  its 
fulfilment,  meet  under  the  stroke  of  your  hand.  No 
need  of  the  words  from  her  queenly  lips,  "  I  will  as- 
sume the  responsibility  for  my  Crown  of  Castile,  a 
crown  that  may  be  bereft  of  its  jewels;  here  they  are, 
coin  them  into  money,  yet  small  price  do  I  pay  for 
the  gems  you  offer  to  place  at  my  feet." 

In  every  outline,  in  every  lineament,  the  dignity, 
grace,  and  goodness  of  the  Queen  speak  as  she  be- 
comes great  through  the  power  of  a  great  thought; 
a  creator,  as  it  were,  another  creation;  this  country, 
this  last,  rarest  jewel  in  the  chaplet  of  nations!  The 
sublime  conception,  the  reality,  is  immortalized  by 
our  country-woman.  Heartily  do  I  congratulate  this 
fair  state  upon  the  possession  of  its  Isabella  of 
Castile. 

T  -irk       lork^  H*    W^.     R.     S. 

Jan.   19,   1894. 

After  Miss  Hosmer's  visit  to  California  an  acquaint- 
ance writes: 

"She  has  done  much  for  us  in  many  ways  during 
her  short  stay  among  us.  There  is  always  the  in- 
spiration that  comes  from  association  with  a  master 
mind,  the  uplifting  that  ordinary  mortals  experience 
when  brought  in  touch  with  a  genius.     There  have 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  331 

been  many  social  entertainments  in  Miss  Hosmer's 
honor,  but  they  have  been  more  than  mere  surface 
events,  for  she  has  given  a  depth  and  tone  to  each 
one,  making  it  wholly  original  in  its  way.  How 
well  it  would  be  if  we  could  all  be  as  bright,  as 
witty,  as  thoroughly  in  touch  with  life  as  is  Miss 
Hosmer.  She  has  such  an  original  way  of  telling  a 
story,  such  a  bright  sparkle  of  the  eye,  such  a  rare 
appreciation  of  the  best  points  when  it  touches  hu- 
man nature,  and  all  because  she  is  so  happy  herself. 
Life  to  her  has  meant  success.  That  is  always  the 
way;  life  has  neither  beginning  nor  end  for  a  genius; 
it  is  only  a  span  of  time.  '  I  called  on  you  thirty 
years  ago,  but  I  suppose  you  have  forgotten  me,'  said 
a  gentleman  at  Starr  King's  reception  last  night. 
'You  did?'  said  Miss  Hosmer;  'well,  call  on  me 
thirty  years  from  now,  and  I  shall  remember  you.' 
Such  a  speech  from  a  woman  of  sixty-five!  That 
is  one  of  the  advantages  of  genius — we  may  be  old  in 
one  sense,  but  never  in  another." 

While  in  San  Francisco  it  was  objected  that  Miss 
Hosmer's  criticisms  upon  their  public  statues  were 
unjust,  to  this  she  replies: 

"I  did  unreservedly  criticise,  as  I  shall  ever  criticise 
and  deplore,  the  limited  range  of  our  art  as  displayed 
in  our  public  parks  and  squares.  Be  it  observed  that 
I  now  allude  solely  to  the  statues  within  '  the  Park 
proper,'  claiming  that  they  truly  represent  the  char- 
acter and  style  of  sculpture  which  generally  deco- 
rates all  our  parks  and  squares.  Our  ideas  of  art 
are  apparently  confined  to  portraiture — ideal  art  has 
vanished.  Poetry  in  art,  as  poetry  in  practice,  is  little 
in  accord   with  our   too   utilitarian   age. 

We  erect  a  portrait  statue  to  one  of  our  heroes, 
clad    in    the   outrageous    costume    of    our    time,    and 


832  HARRIET  HOSMER 

then  feel,  in  a  general  way,  that  we  have  done  some- 
thing for  art.  We  have  done  something  for  history, 
if  you  will,  but  all  we  do  for  art  by  the  erection  of 
these  bronze  photographs  is  to  banish  true  art  farther 
and  farther  from  its  legitimate  realm.  For  what  is 
the  meaning  of  art?  Its  true  signification  implies 
creation,  and,  may  I  ask,  what  opportunity  has  the 
most  imaginative  sculptor  when  executing  a  work  of 
modern  portraiture,  fettered  by  the  necessity  of  ad- 
hering to  an  uncouth  costume,  to  display  the  creative 
faculty  or  his  sense  of  beauty  and  grace?  Never  since 
the  creation  of  the  world  has  a  costume  been  devised 
so  utterly  ungracious  and  ungrateful  as  that  which  the 
public  demands  from  us  sculptors — intolerable  in 
practice,  more  than  intolerable,  more  than  grotesque, 
in  art.  Art  must  appeal  to  the  mind  through  the  eye, 
and  as  a  grotesque  movement  upon  the  stage  traves- 
ties the  noblest  thought,  so  would  the  uncouth  cos- 
tume of  our  time  paralyze  and  travesty  the  genius  of 
Phidias  himself. 

Let  us  glorify  our  heroes  by  all  means,  but  why 
may  not  historic  and  ideal  art  be  combined  in  a  man- 
ner which  shall  equally  content  poet  and  historian? 
Of  this  order  of  art  is  Daniel  French's  Monument  to 
Millmore,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  works  in  the 
Columbian  Exhibition.  Here  the  sculptor  presents 
to  us  not  only  historic  truth,  but  beauty  of  form  and 
sentiment,  pathos  and  outlines  of  harmony  and  grace; 
in  short,  tells  us  the  story  of  Millmore's  death  in  a 
poem,  not  in  a  betrousered  obituary. 

This  is  the  order  of  art  which  delights  while  it  in- 
structs, and  if  the  mission  of  art  be  not  still  to  in- 
struct and  elevate,  while  it  delights,  let  it  be  abolished 
as  a  spurious  growth  upon  the  civilization  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  Our  artists  wait  only  for  the 
public  taste  to  demand  such  art.  When  the  public 
have  sufficient  taste  to  demand  that  art,  it  will  be  seen 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  333 

that  our  artists   have   sufficient  taste   to   supply   the 
demand. 

Another  point.  As  a  disciple  of  classic  art  I  am 
supposed  '  to  inveigh  against  the  modern  realistic 
school.'  Not  in  the  least.  Give  us  everything  and 
the  fittest  will  survive,  but  against  the  term  '  realistic ' 
as  opposed  to  the  '  classic  school '  I  rebel.  Never  was 
a  grosser  misapplication  of  terms.  '  Realistic  '  I  take 
to  mean  '  real,'  '  true  to  nature,'  and  therefore  I  claim 
that  what  is  known  as  the  classic  school  furnishes  the 
most  commanding  examples  of  realistic  art — who,  save 
Nature  herself,  reality  itself,  could  conceive  of  the 
form  of  The  Fighting  Gladiator,  or  of  the  Dying 
Gladiator,  or  of  the  Venus  of  Milo — or  of  the  Neapoli- 
tan Psyche — or  of  the  Praxiteles  Faun,  or,  greater 
than  all,  of  the  sublime  forms  expressed  in  the  Elgin 
Marbles?  These  statues,  one  and  all,  are  portrait 
statues — wrought  by  the  ancient  masters  with  a 
patience,  a  knowledge  and  a  keenness  of  vision,  of 
which  few  artists  are  now  capable.  But  one  and  all 
reflect  Nature  in  her  noblest,  happiest  mood,  which 
should  be  the  end  and  aim  of  all  art,  not  Nature 
travestied  as  the  result  of  human  accident,  or 
ignorance. 

Deprived  of  these  magnificent  monuments  of  human 
genius,  we  could  form  no  conception  of  the  beauty 
of  which  the  human  form  is  capable.  Think  what 
advantages  the  Greek  sculptors  enjoyed  as  compared 
with  the  status  of  art  in  our  time.  Their  models  were 
furnished  by  a  race  supreme  in  the  world's  history  for 
physical  perfection.  Their  climate,  their  games,  all 
their  modes  of  life,  fostered  and  developed  this  per- 
fection of  form.  The  study  of  physical  beauty  was 
reduced  to  a  science.  No  athlete  was  permitted  to 
contend  an  unlimited  number  of  times  for  a  given 
prize,  lest  certain  muscles  should  be  unduly  developed. 
Art   was   in   its   prime,    because    Nature   was    in    her 


334!  HARRIET  HOSMER 

prime.  Their  intellectual  status  was  on  an  equal 
plane,  yet  it  is  the  sensational  fashion  of  our  time  to 
condemn  their  physical  beauty  as  '  tameness,'  their 
serenity   of  deportment  as   '  monotony.' 

But  scoff  as  we  may,  what  is  known  as  the  classic 
school  has  proved  the  true  and  lasting  fount  of  in- 
spiration of  all  great  art.  Michael  Angelo  so  closely 
studied  the  famous  Herculean  Torso  in  the  Vatican, 
that  now  by  courtesy  it  is  called  '  Michael  Angelo's 
Torso.'  After  the  contortions  of  the  Bernini  school, 
arose  by  revulsion  of  taste  the  more  modern  classic 
school,  of  which  Thorwaldsen  was  the  bright,  par- 
ticular star,  and  so  will  it  be  to  the  end.  Schools  will 
arise  in  which  grotesqueness  will  be  called  '  original- 
ity '  and  caricature  '  nature.'  But  after  all  these 
schools  have  completed  their  little  cycles,  lovers  of 
all  that  is  beautiful  and  true  in  nature  will  seek  their 
inspiration  from  the  profounder  and  serener  depths 
of  classic  art." 

After  the  death  of  his  wife  William  Story  wrote  to 
Miss  Hosmer: 

Palazzo  Barberini,  Rome,  Dec.  14,  1894. 

My  dear  Hatty: 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  gladly  I  received  your  dear 
and  tender  letter  of  October  8.  It  was  the  first  line 
I  had  had  from  you  since  I  lost  my  beloved  wife,  and 
I  could  not  help  wondering  that  I  had  never  heard 
one  word  of  sympathy  and  sorrow  upon  this,  to  me, 
irreparable  loss.  I  did  not  believe  that  you  had  for- 
gotten me,  and  that  you  did  not  share  with  me  this 
terrible  bereavement,  so  I  consoled  myself  with  the 
thought  that  you  must  have  written  and  that  your 
letter  had  miscarried,  as  now  proves  to  have  been  the 
case.  Oh!  my  dear  Hatty,  I  feel  utterly  shipwrecked. 
...  If  you  want  to  know  what  I  am,  read  "  An  old 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  335 

Seventy-four  Frigate  "  in  "  Blackwood  "  for  August — 
that  is  what  I  am — a  mere  wreck.  ...  I  have  made  a 
monument  to  her,  which  will  be  placed  in  the  Protes- 
tant Cemetery,  but  it  is  not  as  yet  quite  finished  in  the 
marble. 

I  have  been  spending  the  summer  at  Vallombrosa 

with  E and  her  family,  and  wandering  with  them 

through  the  pine  groves.  All  that  was  possible  to  do 
for  me,  they  have  done.  But — however,  I  will  not 
go  on. 

.  .  .  Now  I  am  back  again  in  Rome,  but  I  have  no 

heart  to  do  anything.     W is  here,  and,  I  am 

happy  to  say,  has  his  hands  full  of  work  in  his  studio; 
and  admirable  work  it  is,  full  of  vigor  and  power, 
originality  and  grace. 

And  what  are  you  doing,  and  when  are  you  coming 
back  to  us? 

.  .  .  Good-by,  dear  Hatty.    All  send  their  love  and 
hope  that  we  shall  see  you  here  this  winter. 
Ever  your  affectionate 

W.  W.  Story. 

Later,  after  the  sculptor's  own  death,  a  member 
of  his  family  wrote  to  Miss  Hosmer: 

"  How  large  a  piece  of  your  life  lies  buried  in  that 
Poets'  Corner  of  the  little  cemetery  in  Rome.  One 
cannot  remember  the  time  when  you  were  not  looked 
upon  as  a  daughter,  by  the  two  dear  ones  now  lying 
side  by  side  under  the  cypress  trees.  .  .  . 

After  the  dear  one  was  brought  to  Vallombrosa 
he  seemed  to  gain  strength  for  a  time,  and  he  was  so 
happy  sitting  out  in  the  beautiful  woods,  surrounded 
by  his  grandchildren,  up  to  the  last  day — a  golden 
autumn  day  it  was.  Then  before  another  one  had 
dawned,  his  spirit  had  fled,  in  sleep,  without  a  sigh — 
his  face  calm  and  smiling.  We  covered  him  with  the 
lovely  leaves  of  Vallombrosa." 


336  HARRIET  HOSMER 

It  was  in  October,  1895,  that  William  Story  died, 
and  Miss  Hosmer  wrote  among  her  other  words  of 
ardent  praise,  "  As  a  modeller,  William  Story  was  un- 
excelled by  any  modern  artist.  His  statue  of  Alcestis 
is  the  finest  example  of  his  skill  in  drapery,  and  he 
has  left  behind  him  a  most  noble  array  of  works 
which  for  knowledge,  refinement,  and  poetic  grace 
stamp  him  as  one  of  the  greatest  artists  of  our  time." 

Her  long,  unbroken  friendship  with  the  Storys  was 
ever  one  of  her  most  faithful  and  tender  memories  of 
the  old  Roman  days. 

In  the  life  of  Frances  Power  Cobbe  *  written  by 
herself,  in  Vol.  II,  is  a  very  truthful  and  captivating 
picture  of  her  friend  Harriet  Hosmer,  as  she  ap- 
peared to  that  eminent  Englishwoman  some  years  be- 
fore. She  says,  "  She  was  in  those  days  the  most 
bewitching  sprite  that  the  world  ever  saw.  Never 
have  I  laughed  so  helplessly  as  at  the  infinite  fun  of 
that  bright  Yankee  girl.  Even  in  later  years,  when 
we  perforce  grew  a  little  graver,  she  needed  only  to 
begin  one  of  her  descriptive  stories  to  make  us  all 
young  again.  I  have  not  seen  her  since  her  return 
to  America,  nor  yet  any  one  in  the  least  like  her. 
It  is  vain  to  hope  to  convey  to  any  reader  the  con- 
tagion of  her  merriment.  Oh!  what  a  gift  beyond 
rubies  are  such  spirits!" 

Always  quick  to  champion  a  friend,  after  the  death 
of  Frederick  Leighton,  Miss  Hosmer  wrote  to  an 
American  journal: 

♦Houghton,    Mifflin    Co.,    1895. 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  337 

Feb.  25,  1896. 
A  paper  of  the  16th  February,  contains  a  para- 
graph suggesting  that  "  the  late  Lord  Leighton  must 
have  been  very  extravagant,"  to  have  left  so  little 
of  this  world's  goods,  "  when  we  consider  the  vast 
sums  he  must  have  received  for  his  works."  Firstly,  I 
doubt  if  Leighton  ever  received  "  vast  sums  "  for  his 
works.  Those  halcyon  days  are  limited  to  the  Athe- 
nian, not  to  the  19th  century  period  of  art.  Secondly, 
it  is  due  to  the  memory  of  Leighton,  and  upon  the 
authority  of  a  life-long  friend,  to  state  that  more 
than  half  his  annual  income  was  devoted  to  his  less 
prosperous  brethren  in  art.  No  artist  ever  appealed 
in  vain  to  Leighton  for  aid.  Well  do  I  remember 
that  so  long  ago  as  1853,  when  he  was  making  his 
studies  in  Rome  for  his  picture  of  Cimabue  and 
Giotto,  and  before  fortune  had  in  any  way  smiled 
upon  him,  his  name  was  synonymous  with  helpfulness 
and  kindness  to  those  less  fortunate  than  himself. 
And  so  it  was  to  the  end.  It  was  enough  for  Leigh- 
ton to  know  that  others  were  in  greater  want  than 
himself,  and  his  purse  was  theirs;  and  it  was  this 
kindliness  and  generosity  of  heart,  this  finest  quality, 
which  endeared  him  to  his  friends  and  which  excited 
their  admiration  far  more  than  even  his  most  brilliant 
achievements. 

Harriet  G.  Hosmer. 

Miss  Hosmer  thus  wrote  of  her  first  meeting  with 
Sir  Frederick  Leighton  and  of  their  long  friend- 
ship: 


rr  e 


E'  permesso?'  said  a  pleasant  young  voice,  the 
owner  of  which  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  top  of  the 
little  narrow  staircase  which  led  to  my  modelling  room 
in  the  Gibson  studio. 

' Entra  pure'  said   I,  and   a   young   man   of   two 


338  HARRIET  HOSMER 

or  three  and  twenty,  very  good  looking,   suggestive 
of  the  young  Raphael  style,  stood  before  me. 

'  Unless  you  prefer  a  foreign  tongue,'  said  I,  *  let 
us  try  English.' 

The  young  man  laughed,  and  after  a  few  words  of 
greeting  explained  that  Mr.  Gibson  had  given  him 
permission  to  draw  the  skull  of  a  horse,  which  was 
hidden  away  behind  the  old  green  curtain,  serving 
as  a  background,  in  the  little  studio.  Pietro,  the 
studio  lad,  was  summoned,  and  the  skull  having  been 
produced  and  arranged  in  a  proper  light,  the  new- 
comer sat  himself  down  and  began  his  work,  and  then 
and  there  commenced  an  acquaintance  and  friendship 
which  ceased  only  when,  long  years  after.  Lord  Leigh- 
ton,  President  of  the  Royal  Academy,  with  much 
pomp  and  ceremony,  was  laid  to  rest  in  London's 
great  Cathedral  of  St.  Paul.  For  young  Leighton 
it  was,  unknown  then  to  the  world,  yet  that  day  tak- 
ing a  step  in  his  sudden  ascent  to  fame,  for  the 
drawing  was  a  study  to  serve  in  his  painting  Cimabue. 
This  was  perhaps  the  most  carefully  designed  and 
executed  of  all  his  works,  upon  which  he  labored  un- 
remittingly, and  which,  when  exhibited  and  purchased 
by  the  Queen,  landed  the  artist,  at  one  bound,  upon 
the  top  wave  of  prosperity.  As  the  whole  work  was 
executed  in  Rome,  and  as  during  these  two  years  I 
saw  much  of  Leighton,  I  followed  the  Cimabue  in  all 
its  phases  and  felt  an  especially  personal  interest 
therein  when  it  came  about  that  the  Gonfallier  was 
to  ride  a  horse  which  at  that  time  I  chanced  to  own, 
very  good  looking,  but  which,  I  told  Leighton,  *  got 
nearer  the  "  brush  "  in  his  studio  than  he  ever  did  in 
the  hunting  field.' 

Following  upon  the  success  of  his  picture,  to  the 
regret  of  all  his  Roman  friends,  Leighton  was  re- 
called from  Rome,  but  before  leaving,  his  brother 
artists  with  whom  he  was  deservedly  popular,  united 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  339 

in  a  farewell  dinner  in  his  honor,  to  which  I  contrib- 
uted a  basket  of  flowers.  Later  in  the  evening,  when 
he  joined  the  circle  in  Mrs.  Sartoris'  salon,  and 
thanked  me  for  remembering  him,  I  said,  '  When 
next  I  send  you  a  basket  of  flowers,  you  will  be 
President  of  the  Royal  Academy,' — a  pledge  which 
in  the  fulness  of  time  was  realized.  Soon  after  this 
he  closed  his  studio  in  the  Via  Sistine  and  transferred 
it  to  Paris.  As  parting  gifts  in  memory  of  old  times, 
he  presented  me  with  a  charming  drawing  of  Angelo, 
who  had  served  as  his  model  for  the  young  Giotto  in 
the  picture  of  Cimabue,  and  also  with  the  study  of  the 
horse's  skull,  bearing  the  hilarious  inscription,  '  Skull 
of  Os.' 

His  next  picture,  painted  in  Paris,  was  not  so 
successful,  partly  because  the  subject  was  probably 
less  sympathetic  to  him,  and  partly  because  the  suc- 
cess of  '  Cimabue '  had  wounded  the  susceptibilities 
of  certain  brother  artists.  But  non-success  had  no 
depressing  effect  upon  Leighton.  A  friend,  stand- 
ing near  him,  wrote  me  from  Paris,  '  Fay '  (his 
familiar  name  in  the  Sartoris  circle)  '  is  no  whit  dis- 
couraged by  the  failure  of  his  picture,  but  says,  '  Next 
time  I  mean  to  do  better.'  (Quoted  verbatim  from 
Mrs.   Sartoris'  letter.) 

During  this  time  I  saw  but  little  of  Leighton,  save 
on  the  occasions  of  his  flying  visits  to  Rome,  when 
he  always  dined  with  me.  One  of  these  occasions  I 
well  remember,  and  recalled  it  whenever  I  entered 
his  London  home.  On  the  day  of  his  visit,  I  was 
transferring  my  lares  and  penates  to  tlie  Palazzetto 
Barberini.  While  the  apartment  was  in  the  condition 
attendant  upon  sucli  domestic  events,  our  dinner  was 
served  on  a  packing  case,  and  two  smaller  packing 
cases  served  as  chairs.  During  tliis  elegant  rc])ast 
Leighton  described  to  me  the  lioiise  lie  intended  to 
build,  '  as  soon,'  said  he,  '  as  I  can  earn  the  money 


340  HARRIET  HOSMER 

to  pay  for  it,  but  I  must  earn  it  first.'  After  dinner, 
securing  the  lid  of  a  box,  which  he  balanced  upon  his 
knee,  he  sketched  his  intended  plan,  in  every  respect 
as  it  was  afterwards  executed. 

Few  can  so  successfully  form  plans  for  the  future, 
and  few  can  so  patiently  wait  for  their  fulfilment. 
'  Toil,  constant  toil '  was  Leighton's  watchword. 
Every  portion  of  every  picture  he  ever  painted  was 
studied  from  life,  with  a  labor  of  love  few  artists 
know.  Throughout  his  career  he  strove  to  raise  the 
standard  of  art,  and  few  have  held  its  banner  aloft  so 
nobly  as  did  he.  That  his  health  should  finally  fail 
under  the  constant  pressure  of  his  artistic,  official, 
and  social  duties,  was  no  cause  of  surprise  to  the 
friends  who  knew  him  in  daily  life,  but  he  was  hopeful 
to  the  last.  Not  many  weeks  before  his  final  return  to 
London,  he  wrote  to  me  from  Algiers,  where  he  was 
seeking  rest,  '  You,  who  know  me  so  well,  can  under- 
stand how  irksome  to  me  is  this  enforced  idleness,  but 
the  doctors  assure  me  that  there  is  no  organic  trouble 
and  that  a  little  rest  will  set  me  right.'  Then  he 
went  home  to  die. 

Leighton  will  be  remembered  as  a  distinguished 
artist,  but  he  will  be  longer  remembered  as  an  ideal 
President  of  the  Royal  Academy.  In  that  capacity 
he  had  no  peer,  possessing  in  largest  measure  every 
quality  and  accomplishment  essential  to  his  position: 
profound  knowledge  of  art,  executive  ability,  refined 
and  cultivated  taste,  delicate  tact,  an  accomplished 
linguist,  familiar  with  foreigners,  a  ready  and  polished 
speaker,  courteous  in  manner,  with  a  distinguished 
presence  and  a  kindly  heart,  whose  highest  pleasure 
was  to  aid  and  encourage  those  who  were  less  for- 
tunate than  himself.  His  eminence  as  an  artist  and 
the  distinction  conferred  by  his  office  invested  the 
ceremonies  attending  his  burial  (which  has  well  been 
described  as  '  one  of  the  Pageants  of  the  Year ')  with 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  341 

unusual  solemnity.  But  it  was  the  memory  of  his 
many  attaching,  personal  qualities,  to  those  who  knew 
him  best,  which  invested  it  with  its  pathos." 

In  her  volume  on  the  late  Lord  Leighton,  Alice 
Corkran  tells  that  when  a  young  art  student  at  Rome, 
he  was  generally  known  to  his  friends  as  "  The  Ad- 
mirable Crichton."  "For,"  says  Miss  Corkran,  "to 
his  amazing  endowments  Leighton  added  the  genius 
which  consists  of  taking  infinite  pains.  One  of  the 
handsomest  men  of  his  generation,  learned  in  the 
classics,  speaking  five  languages  with  fluency,  the 
best  dancer  in  Rome,  the  possessor  of  a  fine'  tenor 
voice,  brilliant  in  conversation,  amiable  of  disposition, 
he  yet  cultivated  the  humbler  virtues  of  punctuality, 
hard  work,  economy,  and  sobriety." 

The  most  perfect  character  I  have  ever  known,' 
was  the  verdict  of  Watts  the  painter." 

MRS.  DUNDAS  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Bear  Hatty:  ^^^^^«'  ^^^•'  ^896. 

Leighton's  death  brought  back  many  memories  of 
long  ago — memories  in  which  you  had  your  part.  I 
am  sure  you  must  have  felt  it  deeply.  After  those 
early  Roman  days,  except  in  a  London  crowd,  I  sel- 
dom met  him,  but  hearing  that  he  had  asked  after  me, 
I  went  to  his  studio. 

We  talked  of  j^ou  and  of  what  you  were  doing. 
They  will  not  easily  find  another  president  *  capable 
of  filling  Leighton's  chair  as  he  has  done.  So  few 
men  are  free  from  family  ties  and  ready  to  devote 
their  lives  to  the  business  of  the  Academv.  Tlicn,  he 
was  cosmopolitan,  a  very  universal  man.  Critics, 
especially  French  ones,  say  that  he  should  have  been 

*  For  the  Royal  Academy. 


342  HARRIET  HOSMER 

a  sculptor  rather  than  a  painter,  but  it  is  as  president 
that  his  name  will  go  down  to  history.  Hardly  any 
of  one's  contemporaries  change  more,  than  did  the 
young  man  whom  we  knew  as  Fred.  Leighton 
change  into  the  massive,  dignified  "  Sir  Frederick 
Leighton,  P.  R.  A."  I  saw  him  last  October  in 
Venice.  I  was  coming  up  the  Grand  Canal  one  fine 
morning,  and  my  gondola  crossed  another  hurrying  to 
the  Accade^nia,  in  which  sat  Leighton.  A  smile  and 
a  bow  were  all  that  passed.  He  did  not  look  ill,  one 
would  not,  as  the  Celtic  seers  say,  have  seen  the 
shroud  already  waist  high  about  him,  but  I  suppose 
his  last  malady  made  rapid  progress. 

I  have  heard  of  your  Queen  Isabella.  It  is  a 
charming  story  of  her  giving  her  jewels  to  fit  out 
Columbus.  I  hope  it  is  true,  because  I  should  like 
a  woman  to  have  a  good  share  in  the  finding  of  the 
New  World.  Yours,  ever,  anne  D^das. 

P.S.  Leigh  ton's  "  Clytie  "  is  fine.  You  know  the 
way  he  had  of  sometimes  polishing  and  finishing  till 
the  force  and  reality  were  gone;  well,  this  his  fare- 
well to  the  Academy  walls,  is  left  in  the  rough,  what 
he  probably  called,  "  unfinished,"  and  therefore  is 
more  powerful  than  anything  that  I  have  seen  of  his 
for  a  long  time.  Clytie  kneels,  despairing  hands 
stretched  out  towards  the  golden  clouds  that  hide  her 
sun-god.  There  is  a  yearning  for  the  unseen  in  it, 
which  makes  it  very  fit  to  be  the  painter's  own  "  Swan 
song."    It  is  a  touching  picture,  seen  after  his  death. 

A. 

Miss  Hosmer  had  received  many  medals  and  deco- 
rations, but  did  not  mention  them  except  upon  being 
questioned.      In    1896   it   was   that   she    said: 

"  I  have  never  worn  my  decorations  but  a  few  times 
in  my  life,  and  then  only  to  oblige  a  friend.     I  do 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  343 

not  regard  them  as  '  decorations,'  they  are  simply 
souvenirs  of  friends-  friends  who  happened  to  be 
rulers  of  men.  They  were  given  to  me  personalty 
not  through  ministers  or  consuls,  and  it  would  not 
have  been  polite  for  me  to  say,  '  Your  Majesty,  this 
is  pretty,  but  I  don't  know  what  it  means.' 

The  biggest  one  you  might  think  to  be  two  or 
three;  there  is  the  sash,  then  the  Russian  coat-of-arms 
and  the  large  cross,  which  all  go  together.  The  sash 
is  made  of  the  Russian  colors,  red,  black,  and  yellow, 
in  heavy  moire  ribbon  five  inches  broad.  The  large 
cross  is  quite  barbarically  magnificent,  fully  three 
inches  across  and  about  four  inches  long,  of  Russian 
diamonds,  not  at  all  the  same  thing  as  Koh-i-noors! 
The  setting  is  chiselled  silver  and  ornamented  with 
small  brilliants.  The  cross  is  a  pendant,  and  hangs 
from  the  coat-of-arms,  which  was  originall}'^  done  in 
rose  diamonds.  Unfortunately  this  was  stolen,  and 
when  I  had  another  made  to  replace  it,  I  could  not 
afford  the  diamonds,  so  it's  only  in  carved  silver  now. 
It  was  the  Empress  of  Russia  who  gave  it  to  me, 
the  old  Empress;  I  think  she  was  the  first  Empress 
who  ever  came  to  my  studio.  An  imperial  old  lady, 
in  those  days  so  infirm  that  she  was  brought  into  the 
studio  in  a  Sedan  chair.  What  a  picture  she  made, 
the  little  old  lady  with  her  white  hair  and  her  flashing 
eyes  and  her  must-be-obeyed  air,  sitting  in  that  mag- 
nificent chair,  between  the  two  stalwart  Cossacks  who 
carried  her!  She  was  the  wife  of  the  Czar  Nicholas 
of  Crimean  days,  the  great-grandmother  of  the  present 
Emperor. 

I  have  no  souvenir  of  another  royal  visitor,  the 
Prince  of  Wales,*  but  he  has  two  of  me,  my  Puck 
and  my  Sleeping  Faun.  It  was  during  one  of  his 
first  visits  to  the  continent  that  he  bouglit  the  former. 
He  was  travelling  with  the  Empress  Frederic  (thcu' 
Crown    Princess)    and   her   husband,    and   just    mar- 

*  Afterwards  Edward  VU. 


344  HARRIET  HOSMER 

ried.  The  whole  party  came  to  my  studio,  and 
the  Prince  was  quite  taken  with  Puck,  and  nothing 
would  do  but  he  must  buy  it.  Afterwards  General 
Ellis  (then  Colonel)  told  me  the  Prince  was  not  al- 
lowed to  make  any  purchases  on  this  trip  except  with 
his  own  pocket-money,  so  the  Puck  came  out  of  his 
pin-money!  Later  I  saw  quite  a  good  deal  of  his 
sister,  the  Crown  Princess  (afterwards  Empress  Vic- 
toria) who  was  a  good  artist  herself  and  invited  me 
to  come  to  her  studio  in  Berlin  and  see  her  works,  for 
she  was  a  sculptor  too.  Her  sister.  Princess  Alice  of 
Hesse,  mother  of  the  Russian  Empress,  I  saw  a  good 
deal  of,  at  one  time.  It  is  said  she  was  the  favorite 
daughter  of  Queen  Victoria,  and  I  do  not  wonder, 
for  she  was  a  sweet  creature,  with  a  lovely  face, 
though  something  tragic  about  it.  She  was  also  an 
artist,  and  had  asked  me  to  let  her  come  and  model 
in  my  studio.  All  the  arrangements  were  made  when 
she  was  summoned  home  by  the  illness  of  one  of  her 
sons,  afterwards  the  Grand  Duke  of  Hesse. 

But  to  go  back,  I  have  two  gold  medals  mounted  on 
red  ribbons,  granted  by  Italian  Academies,  one  for  the 
Incouragiemento  di  Arte,  the  other  from  the  Acade- 
mic Udine.  Then  there  was  my  Bavarian  medal 
mounted  on  blue  and  white  ribbon,  the  Bavarian 
colors.  It  is  a  triangle  of  brilliants  set  in  cut  steel,  I 
don't  know  what  it  means,  any  more  than  the  big 
Russian  cross,  but  when  those  queer  settings  are  used, 
it  is  probably  for  some  historic  reason.  I  prize  it  as 
the  gift  of  the  old  King  of  Bavaria,  a  delightful  old 
gentleman  who  used  to  come  every  winter  to  Italy. 

The  Royalties  of  Europe,  when  they  were  tired  of 
being  royal,  came  there  for  a  holiday,  and  as  art  was 
the  business  of  life  in  Rome,  they  floated  around  the 
studios,  and  many  of  them  floated  into  mine  at  one 
time  or  another.  Some  of  them  came  incognito.  Only 
two  came  to  my  studio  in  that  way.     One  was  Maxi- 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  34.5 

milian,  passing  through  Rome  on  his  way  to  Mexico, 
poor  fellow;  one  of  his  gentlemen,  lingering  a  mo- 
ment after  him,  told  me  who  my  visitor  had  been. 
The  other  one  was  the  Queen  of  Holland,  not  the 
Queen  Mother,  but  the  Queen  before  her,  old  King 
William's  first  wife. 

It  was  old  King  Ludwig  who  brought  me  his  little 
medal  one  day  and  pinned  it  on,  telling  me  to  wear 
it  as  a  souvenir  of  his  visit,  and  I've  never  forgotten 
him.  He  practically  built  modern  Munich  and  was  a 
true  artist.  He  was  handsome,  too,  though  he  did 
have  a  large  wen  right  in  the  middle  of  his  forehead, 
so  that  he  wore  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head.  His 
successor.  Max,  w^as  not  attractive,  but  Ludwig  II 
was  charming.  So  I  have  known  personally  three 
kings  of  Bavaria.  Yes,  I  knew  the  dear  old  Pope 
too,  Pio  Nono,  and  Cavour  and  Garibaldi.  It's  some- 
times a  surprise  to  me  to  find  how  many  people  I 
have  known! " 

Miss  Krout  to  Miss  Hosmer,  with  a  handful  of 
daisies : 

,,      ,        J.  .     J  Ightham,  Kent,  1896. 

My  dear  friend: 

I   have   just   returned    from   a   delightful    visit    to 

Ightham.     Perhaps  you  know  it,  one  of  the  old,  old 

villages   with   tiled   roofs    and   latticed    windows    and 

timbered  houses  of  three  hundred  years  ago.     There 

is  a  quaint  old  church  with  a  tomb  to  Dame  Selby, 

who   gave   Lord  INIounteagle   information   concerning 

the  Gunpowder  Plot,  also  divers  of  her  descendants. 

Strolling  about  the  churchyard  I  found  in  one  sunny 

corner  the  grave  of  your  dear  friend  Adelaide  Kemble 

Sartoris.     I  gadiered  for  you   these   daisies  which   I 

enclose.    Her  daughter,  Mrs.  G.,  is  living  in  Ightham, 

dearly  beloved  of  all  the  village  folk.     The  niglitin- 

gales,  skylarks,  and  cuckoos  were  singing  as  I  walked 


346  HARRIET  HOSMER 

for    miles    through    the    lanes,    among    the    hedge- 
rows. .  .  . 

Affectionately  yours, 

M.  H.  Krout. 

MR.  SHORTALL  TO  MISS  HOSMER. 

Bear  3Iiss  Hosmer:  Chicago,  Apl.  7,  1897. 

...  I  have  just  returned  from  a  gij'o  including  the 
West  Indies  and  the  "  Spanish  Main,"  Venezuela, 
a  five-weeks'  jaunt.  In  the  island  of  Barbados,  in 
the  city  of  Bridgetown,  in  the  Council  Chamber 
therein,  and  in  a  niche  in  the  wall  of  the  same,  stands 
conspicuous,  what  do  you  think?  Your  "Puck!" 
You  have  no  idea  how  delightfully  surprised  I  was, 
how  delightfully  familiar  it  appeared;  as  we  ap- 
proached it  more  closely,  we  read  the  inscription  upon 
the  base. 

"  Presented  to  the  Colony  of  Barbados  by  Lady 
Briggs,  in  memory  of  her  husband,  Sir  Thomas 
Graham  Briggs,  Bart." 

Could   anything    be    more    deliciously    sentimental? 

I  thought  you  would  like  to  hear  of  this.  I  know 
of  no  one  who  would  be  better  qualified  to  appreciate 

J.  L*     •     •     • 

Yours  sincerely, 

John  G.  Shortall. 

An  old  friend  of  Miss  Hosmer's,  in  writing  of  her, 
recalls  one  of  her  innumerable  jokes.      She  says: 

"  What  most  impressed  me  in  my  walks  and  talks 
with  Miss  Hosmer,  was  her  wonderful  exuberance  of 
spirits.  She  was  as  happy  and  care-free  as  a  child. 
The  present  was  full  of  delightful  plans  for  work  to 
be  carried  out  in  a  bright  future  extending  limitlessly. 


I 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  347 

Not  a  thought  of  old  age  or  death  apparently  entered 
into  her  dreams.  In  our  occasional  walks  together, 
she  was  always  bubbling  over  with  fun.  Not  long 
ago,  in  Cambridge,  as  we  were  nearing  home,  we 
came  upon  two  ladies  who  were  evidently  tourists, 
with  pencil  and  notebook  in  hand.  One  of  them 
approached,  and,  addressing  Miss  Hosmer,  begged  to 
be  directed  to  the  homes  of  Longfellow  and  Lowell. 
As  we  were  not  far  from  the  house  of  the  former, 
Miss  Hosmer  offered  to  point  it  out  and  walked  on 
in  advance  with  her.  Thinking  them  beyond  hearing, 
I  volunteered  a  little  extra  information  to  the  other 
young  girl,  who  thus  became  my  companion,  and 
said  in  a  low  voice,  '  There  is  a  woman  well  worth 
seeing,  whose  genius  is  acknowledged  both  in  Europe 
and  America,  Harriet  Hosmer.'  She  expressed  gen- 
uine enthusiasm  at  seeing  a  person  of  whom  she  had 
heard  so  much,  and  many  of  whose  works  she  had 
seen.  While  she  was  gazing  admiringly  at  the  artist's 
strong,  well-developed  back,  the  latter  turned  quickly 
from  the  Longfellow  gate,  came  towards  us,  and 
waving  her  hand  at  me,  in  a  pronounced  stage  whisper 
said,  '  Perhaps  you  are  sight-seeing,  young  ladies,  if 
so,  you  will  be  glad  to  know  that  you  have  been 
talking  with  the  distinguished  Mrs.  Somerville.'  Then 
bowing  cordially  to  them,  she  took  my  arm  and 
whisked  me  away  from  my  awe-struck  admirers  be- 
fore I  had  time  to  realize  her  joke.  She  told  me 
later  that  her  first  thought  had  been  to  present  me 
as  Jane  Austen  or  INIrs.  Browning,  but,  fearing  her 
audience  might  be  well  up  in  dates,  had  selected  the 
other  name  as  safer.  No  doubt  the  aforesaid  audience 
congratulated  each  other  upon  having  met  two  such 
noted  women  in  one  morning. 

E.  C.  H." 


348  HARRIET  HOSMER 

TO  MRS.  CARR. 
^        ^  Watertown,  Aug.  28,  1898? 

I  have  a  letter  from  the  Baroness  Adolphe,  which 
I  want  to  show  you.  She  says  of  the  "  Martyrdom 
of  an  Empress  "  exactly  what  I  thought  she  would, 
that  it  is  a  romance,  containing  certain  well-known 
facts,  and  the  rest  fiction.  The  Baroness  was  a  great 
friend  of  the  Empress.*  She  says  that  Countess 
Trani,  the  Empress'  sister,  told  her  that  she  knew  of 
no  friend  of  her  sister's  who  entertained  her  in  Brit- 
tany or  who  was  with  her  as  described  in  the  book.  I 
also  asked  the  Baroness  Adolphe  if  it  were  true  that 
the  monument  to  Guy  de  Maupassant  in  the  'Pare 
Monceau  in  Paris  really  had  a  modernly  dressed  young 
Parisian  seated  at  the  foot  of  the  column  reading  one 
of  his  novels?  I  read  the  description  in  a  paper  but 
could  scarcely  believe  that  art  had  dropped  so  low. 
The  Baroness  says  it  is  quite  true  and  that  when  she 
walks  there  (for  her  house  is  in  the  Pare)  she  avoids 
the  place,  not  to  have  her  eyes  offended  by  the  sight! 
So  much  for  art  in  the  19th  Century. 

Your  H. 

TO  MRS.  ROBERT  EMMONS. 

^        ^-.  The  Palace,  Ely,  Oct.  3,  1900. 

Dear  M:  >  »  » 

You  see  where  I  am,  and  I  only  wish  you  could 
look  out  of  my  window  and  see  this  glorious  old 
cathedral  pile,  which  might  well  take  your  breath 
away.  It  is  gorgeous.  Of  course  I  expected  great 
things,  but  what  I  see  is  beyond  expectation.  Lady 
Alwyne  and  I  came  on  Saturday  from  Castle  Ashby, 
whither  I  return  next  Saturday.  She,  having  every 
place   of   interest  in   England   at   her   fingers'   ends, 

*0f  Austria. 


< 

Q 

a 

< 


8e 


^.Vi*'   ->- 


i^^ 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  34-9 

pointed  out,  as  we  came  along,  Fotheringay  (where 
Mary  Stuart  was  beheaded),  and  having  to  wait  at 
Peterboro'  for  the  Ely  train,  we  visited  the  cathedral, 
which  I  thought  splendid  till  I  saw  Ely.  Arrived  at 
Ely  and  having  got  a  view  of  the  outside  of  the 
cathedral,  we  had  tea  in  the  garden,  in  sight  of  the 
wondrous  plane  tree,  where  my  Lord  Bishop  *  joined 
us  from  London,  and  then  we  went  inside  the 
cathedral. 

But  the  chief  impression  on  my  mind  will  always 
be  connected  with  the  service  yesterday  morning,  it 
being,  too,  the  first  time  I  ever  attended  a  full  cathe- 
dral service.  Being  a  guest  of  my  Lord  Bishop,  I 
had  a  seat  in  the  choir  (not,  however,  on  account  of 
any  assistance  I  could  render  the  vocal  part  of  the 
service)  !  but,  as  you  know,  from  inside  the  screen 
(a  seat  of  honor)  I  could  see  everything,  and  hear 
too,  and  thought  I  had  never  seen  anything  so  fine. 
And  who  do  you  think  preached  the  sermon?  Canon 
Stanton,  whom  I  knew  years  ago  in  Italy.  He  came 
to  the  Palace  afterward  to  tea,  and  we  talked  over 
dear  old  Rome.     How  circles  meet,  sooner  or  later! 

5th., 
Yesterday  both  my  Lord  Bishop  and  Lady  Alwjaie 
took  me  over  the  cathedral,  which  is  1040  j^ears  old. 
They  pointed  out  all  the  objects  of  interest,  which  are 
many,  and  more  discovered  under  their  guidance. 
Then  the  palace  is  almost  as  interesting  as  the  cathe- 
dral itself.  One  of  the  circular  staircases,  three  feet 
wide,  is  all  worn  away,  by  feet  which  have  been 
travelling  it  for  centuries.  On  Monday  we  went  over 
to  Cambridge,  which  is,  as  you  know,  full  of  archi- 
tectural wonders.  Then  to  tea  with  one  of  the  liigh 
dignitaries,  and  had  a  most  deliglitful  afternoon. 
How  splendid  the  old  chapels  are!  .  .  . 

Yours,  H. 

*  The  Right  Rev.  Lord  Alwyne  Compton,  Bishop  of  Ely. 


350  HARRIET  HOSMER 

After  Miss  Hosmer's  death  Lady  Alwyne  Compton 
wrote : 

St.  Martin's  House,  Canterbury, 

Dear  Mrs.  Carr:  '      ' 

It  was  about  1860  that  Hatty  first  made  the 
acquaintance  of  my  sister-in-law.  Lady  Marian  Al- 
ford,  who  soon  loved  her  with  an  affection  that  grew 
and  spread  to  all  the  family.  Lady  M.  came  with  her 
great  love  of  all  that  was  beautiful,  and  her  overflow- 
ing sj^mpathy,  just  when  Hatty  most  needed  it. 

She  might  have  become  rather  defiant  and  too 
eccentric  among  those  who  did  not  thoroughly  under- 
stand her.  Lord  Alwyne  and  I  were  in  Rome  with 
Lady  Marian,  during  the  winter  of  1861,  and  saw 
Hatty  every  day.  It  was  the  winter  of  the  siege  of 
Gaeta,  and  when  it  fell,  and  the  King  and  Queen  of 
Naples  took  refuge  in  Rome,  Hatty  was  fascinated 
by  the  grace  and  beauty  of  the  Queen,  and  afterwards 
made  a  statue  of  her  in  her  Austrian  military  cloak. 
When  Rome  became  the  capital  their  Majesties  went 
to  Paris  to  live. 

I  enclose  one  of  Hatty's  bits  of  fun;  they  always 
came  so  spontaneously.  .  .  . 

Yours,  sincerely, 

Florence  Compton. 

After  the  visit  to  Ely  these  lines  were  written  to 
Lady  Alwyne  Compton,  of  whom  the  artist  had  bor- 
rowed four  postage  stamjis: 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES 


351 


Alas!  I've  justly  earned  a  name 
Which  most  the  honest  dread, 

Four  times  convicted  to  my  shame, 
Under  a  separate  head. 


m^f^- 


With  others'  goods  and  chattels,  I 

Feloniously  decamped, 
And  by  that  act,  cannot  deny. 

My  character  is  stamped. 


4^7w^^rt8^rrr/ 


But  what  is  worse,  from  near  and  far 
The  fatal  truth  is  spread; 

Such  things  stick  fast  to  one,  and  are 
As  soon  as  published  read. 


352 


HARRIET  HOSMER 

But  yet  the  little  I  can  do, 
I  haste  to  do,  my  friend. 

For  fourpence  I  received  from  you, 
And  four  puns  here  I  send. 


■^t    \     '..*-%.'-    <^'A-'V.  »     ,  .*. 


Again  Miss  Hosmer  returned  to  Italy  for  a  short 
time  and  wrote: 


TO  MRS.  CARR. 


Dear  C: 


Rome,  Feb.  3,  1901. 


I  do  believe  you  even  enjoyed  your  "  very  stormy 
passage,"  (to  Cuba),  well  some  folks  are  made  for 
the  sea,  otherwise  what  is  the  sea  made  for?  Altho' 
we  are  pretty  quiet  here,  a  good  deal  has  been  hap- 
pening in  other  parts  of  the  world,  particularly  at 
the  Isle  of  Wight.  Think  of  the  dear  old  Queen 
being  gone  and  Edward  VII  instead!  But  in  how 
short  a  time  will  all  this  seem  natural  enough.  I  be- 
lieve he  will  make  a  good  king  because  he  has  got 
two  of  my  statues! 

I  was  lost  in  admiration  of  you,  that  you  were 
able  to  write  on  that  boat.  I  can  see  you  in  the 
spirit  world  with  a  halo  of  pens  around  your  brow. 
But  writing  up  there  in  the  clouds  wouldn't  be  half  so 
effective  to  my  mind,  or  half  so  difficult,  for  you  could 
always  pick  a  quill  out  of  your  wings  and  it  would  fly 
of  itself.  I  shall  ever  remember  that  boat-letter  as  an 
episode  of  the  nineteenth  century!  .  .  . 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  353 

The  last  paragraph  that  I  have  seen  about  art  in 
our  country  says  that  a  duty  of  25  per  cent,  is  to  be 
put  upon  "  paintings,  statuary,  and  bologna  sausages." 
Phidias  was  lucky  to  have  lived  and  died  when  he  did. 

Your  H. 

Later,  in  writing  from  England,  she  says: 

■Q^^^  Q,  Melchet  Court,  Oct.  1901. 

.  .  .  We  have  had  a  delightful  visitor  here.  Lady 
Portsmouth.  Since  her  widowhood  she  farms  it,  and 
has  invited  me  to  take  a  hand.  I  told  her  if  I  had 
to  lead  my  life  over  again,  I  would  be  a  farmer. 
She  said  if  she  had  to  lead  her  life  over  again,  she 
would  be  a  sculptor.  So  you  see  each  one  thinks  the 
other's  profession  the  best. 

H. 

j^p  y  r.  Melchet  Court,  June  16,  1902. 

I  have  been  on  a  little  visit  to  Compton  Wynyates, 
as  the  family  were  there  for  Whitsuntide.  I  shall 
never  forget  how  beautiful  the  sunshine  was,  one 
afternoon    in    particular,    when    all    the    grass    was 

VCAVCv*     •     •     •  ■w"w- 

Miss  Hosmer  passed  so  many  happy  days  here 
that  this  reference  to  Compton  Wynyates  will  bear 
an  additional  word,  it  being  imique  as  a  moated 
manorhouse  of  the  twelfth  century.  The  name  comes 
from  the  vineyards  formerly  covering  the  enclosing 
liills.  While  it  retains  many  of  the  principal  features 
of  early  years,  it  has  been  restored  and  kept  in  fitting 
condition  by  the  present  owner,  tlie  ISIan^uis  of 
Northampton.     The  quaint  old  pile  is  tucked  away. 


354  HARRIET  HOSMER 

among  the  folds  of  grassy,  tumbling  hills,  which  rise 
six  or  seven  hundred  feet  above  it.  The  mansion^ 
built  in  form  of  a  quadrangle  (though  a  singularly 
irregular  one),  is  of  the  same  brick  seen  at  Hampton 
Court,  except  the  gables,  which  are  half-timbered. 
The  wood  is  darkened  with  age  and  the  bricks  and 
mortar  have  grown  hoary,  as  becomes  an  old  fortified 
place.  The  drawbridge  has  disappeared.  The  moat 
has  been  partially  filled  and  planted  with  flowers  of 
every  hue,  in  most  effective  masses.  They  almost 
encircle  the  smooth  stretches  of  well-kept  lawn,  which 
show  up  so  picturesquely  the  dull  red  building.  The 
curious  and  wonderful  chimneys  are  its  most  dis- 
tinguishing feature,  and  are  said  to  have  been  trans- 
ported without  a  single  breakage,  in  panniers,  on  the 
backs  of  donkeys  from  the  distant  castle  of  Fulbroke. 

Again  Miss  Hosmer  met  with  a  grievous  loss,  in 
the  death  of  her  beloved  friend,  Louisa,  Lady  Ash- 
burton. 

In  the  London  Spectator  of  February  7,  1903, 
Edward  Clifford  wrote: 

"  A  very  remarkable  personality  has  just  passed 
from  our  midst  in  Louisa,  Lady  Ashburton,  a  High- 
land chieftainess  of  the  Seaforth  family.  She  was 
connected  by  ties  of  close  and  intimate  friendship 
with  Thomas  Carlyle,  with  Robert  Browning,  and 
with  Edwin  Landseer,  who  were  all  warmly  attached 
to  her.  For  many  years  she  was  surrounded  by  the 
most  eminent  and  interesting  people  of  the  time,  and 
her  sympathies  were  not  only  religious  and  philan- 
thropic, but  artistic  and  literary." 

Nor  is  this  a  name  which  can  be  lightly  passed  over 


w 

< 


'A 

O 
H 

o 
o 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  355 

by  one  who  loves  England,  for  not  only  was  Lady 
Ashburton  the  staunch  friend  and  generous  patron 
of  Harriet  Hosmer,  but  she  was  one  of  London's  most 
liberal  benefactors,  perhaps  her  greatest  philanthro- 
pist among  women.  Among  many  others  her  chari- 
ties at  the  East  End  have  linked  her  name  indis- 
solubly  with  the  Victoria  and  Albert  Docks  and  the 
welfare  of  their  brave  seamen. 

Miss  Hosmer  once  described  her  first  meeting  with 
Lady  Ashburton,  thus: 

"  On  an  eventful  day  of  the  year  1867  came  a  lady 
to  the  studio  bringing  a  note  of  introduction  from  a 
mutual  friend.  I  have  a  distinct  recollection  of 
stonily  gazing  at  the  lady  when  she  presented  her- 
self, and  of  so  remaining,  gazing,  with  no  thought 
of  advancing  to  greet  her,  for,  as  I  gazed,  it  seemed 
to  my  bewildered  senses  that  the  Ludovisi  Goddess 
in  person,  weary,  perhaps,  of  the  long  imprisonment 
of  Art,  had  assumed  the  stature  and  the  state  of 
mortals  and  stood  before  me.  There  were  the  same 
square-cut  and  grandiose  features,  whose  classic 
beauty  was  humanized  by  a  pair  of  keen,  dark  eyes, 
expressive  now  of  amused  surprise;  then  came  a 
lovely  smile,  and  then  a  rich,  musical  voice  of  inquiry, 
arousing  me  to  the  situation.  And  here  I  may  add, 
by  way  of  parenthesis,  as  greatly  amused  was  I,  but 
less  surprised,  when,  in  after  years,  the  lady  laugh- 
ingly characterized  my  deportment  that  day  as  '  most 
peculiar.'  Did  no  wave  from  the  Fortunate  Isles  bear 
to  me  a  prophetic  whisper  of  this  beautiful  woman? 
No!  and  we  talked  of  art,  and  of  Rome,  and  of  our 
common  friend,  as  strangers  talk  who  meet  for  a 
pleasant  hour,  then  go  their  ways. 

Those  who  at  that  period  of  her  life  knew  Louisa, 


356  HARRIET  HOSMER 

Lady  Ashburton,  for  she  it  was,  then  in  the  height 
of  her  splendid  beauty,  will  recognize  the  portrait. 
Born  of  a  great  race,  she  looked  her  greatness,  but 
her  chief  charm  lay  neither  in  her  nobility  of  presence 
nor  in  her  classic  outline  of  feature,  but  in  the  ever 
varying  radiance  of  expression,  which  each  moment 
wrought  undiscovered  charms  in  the  lovely  face,  as 
sunlight  playing  over  a  flower  renders  it  ever  more 
beautiful  than  before.  And  to  those  rare  gifts  was 
added  the  perhaps  still  rarer  one  of  an  exquisitely 
modulated  voice,  rich  and  musical,  with  every  inflec- 
tion of  which  the  human  voice  is  capable.  Such  was 
the  personality  of  the  lady  whose  acquaintance  I  made 
on  that  auspicious  day,  and  which  ripened  into  a 
friendship  that  throughout  her  life  knew  no  shadow 
of  change." 

If  Miss  Hosmer  had  failures  or  disappointments, 
she  never  knew  them  as  such;  they  were  only  step- 
ping-stones to  greater  effort,  to  higher  attainment. 
Certainly,  too,  she  was  one  of  the  happiest  and 
merriest  of  beings.     She  once  said: 

"  The  other  day  I  had  a  compliment  paid  me  which 
was  as  rare  as  flattering.  Speaking  of  nonsense,  I 
was  indulging  in  it  and  apparently  was  diverting 
Mrs.  Dundas,  whereupon  she  said,  '  Oh,  Hatty,  I  wish 
you  would  be  buried  here,  it  would  be  jolly  only 
to  look  at  your  grave.'  '  Thank  you,'  said  I,  '  I 
would  rather  live,  though  I  had  to  be  wise.' 


J  >> 


In  late  years.  Miss  Hosmer  was  much  given  to 
reminiscing.  She  delighted  to  recall  the  clever 
and  interesting  people  whom  she  had  known  in  inti- 
mate friendship.  Those  who  were  so  fortunate  as  to 
be  present  when  she  was  in  one  of  these  moods,  de-i 


LETTERS  AND  MEMORIES  357 

lighted  still  more  in  listening  to  her  brilliant  sketches 
of  character,  personality,  genius,  wit,  and  humor. 
The  last,  perhaps,  made  the  most  vivid  impression 
upon  her,  because  of  her  own  fun-loving  nature.  To 
her  all  life  was  sunshine,  even  the  clouds  were  golden 
and  rose-hued,  yet  beneath  all  this  lived  an  earnest 
spirit  and  lofty  determination  to  do  her  best  and  to 
see  only  the  best  in  others.  Her  grateful,  loyal,  and 
generous  nature  drew  from  others  of  their  highest, 
making  her  very  presence  a  benediction. 

Lord  Leighton  said  in  one  of  his  addresses: 

"  Believe  me,  whatever  of  dignity,  whatever  of 
strength  we  have  within  us,  will  dignify  and  will  make 
strong  the  labor  of  our  hands;  whatever  of  noble  fire 
is  in  our  hearts  will  burn  also  in  our  work;  whatever 
purity  is  ours  will  also  chasten  and  exalt  it,  for  as 
we  are,  so  our  work  is." 

Assuredly  these  words  were  made  true  in  the  life 
of  Harriet  Hosmer. 


APPENDICES 


APPENDICES 

APPENDIX  A. 

THE  BENTON  STATUE. 

It  will  be  seen  from  the  following  correspondence 
that  Miss  Hosmer  was  the  artist  selected  to  design  the 
first  public  monument  ever  erected  in  the  State  of 
Missouri. 

St.  Louis,  June  15,  1860. 

Miss  Harriet  G.  Hosmer, 

Watertown,  Mass. 
Dear  Madam: 

The  undersigned,  in  behalf  of  the  commissioners 
appointed  by  the  Legislature  for  the  erection  of  a 
bronze  statue,  in  this  city,  of  Colonel  Thomas  Hart 
Benton,  have  the  pleasure  of  informing  you  that  you 
have  been  unanimously  selected  as  the  artist  to  execute 
the  work. 

The  commissioners  have  confidence  in  believing 
that  from  your  hands  St.  Louis  will  receive  an  addi- 
tion to  her  objects  of  art  which  will  be  worthy  of  the 
great  statesman,  worthy  of  the  age,  and  worthy  of 
an  American  artist. 

The  committee  trust  to  have  the  opportunity,  at  an 
early  day,  of  conferring  with  you  in  regard  to  the 
details  of  the  contract,  and  the  manner  in  which  the 
subject  shall  be  treated.     INIean while  they  have  the 

361 


S62  APPENDICES 

honor    to    be,    with    great    respect,    your    obedient 

servants, 

J.  B.  BranTj 
Wayman  Crow^ 
M.    L.    Linton,    M.    D., 

Committee. 

^     .,  Watertown,  June  22,  1860. 

Gentlemen: 

I  have  had  the  honor  to  receive  your  letter  of  the 
15th  inst.,  informing  me  that  the  execution  of  the 
bronze  statue  in  memory  of  the  late  Col.  Benton,  for 
the  city  of  St.  Louis,  is  entrusted  to  me.  Such  a 
tribute  to  his  merit  would  demand  the  best  acknowl- 
edgments of  any  artist,  but  in  the  present  instance 
my  most  cordial  thanks  will  but  insufficiently  convey 
to  you  a  sense  of  the  obligation  under  which  I  feel 
you  have  placed  me. 

I  have  reason  to  be  grateful  to  you  for  this  distinc- 
tion, because  I  am  a  young  artist,  and  though  I  may 
have  given  some  evidence  of  skill  in  those  of  my 
statues  which  are  now  in  your  city,  I  could  scarcely 
have  hoped  that  their  merit,  whatever  it  may  be, 
should  have  inspired  the  citizens  of  St.  Louis  to 
entrust  me  with  a  work  whose  chief  characteristic 
must  be  the  union  of  great  intellectual  power  with 
manly  strength. 

.But  I  have  also  reason  to  be  grateful  to  you,  be- 
cause I  am  a  woman,  and  knowing  what  barriers  must 
in  the  outset  oppose  all  womanly  efforts,  I  am  in- 
debted to  the  chivalry  of  the  West,  which  has  first 
overleaped  them.  I  am  not  unmindful  of  the  kind 
indulgence  with  which  my  works  have  been  received, 
but  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  the  critics  might 
be  more  courteous  than  just,  remembering  from  what 
hand  they  proceeded.  Your  kindness  will  now  afford 
me  opportunity  of  proving  to  what  rank  I  am  en- 
titled as  an  artist,  unsheltered  by  the  broad  wings  of 


APPENDICES  363 

compassion  for  the  sex;  for  this  work  must  be,  as  we 
understand  the  term,  a  manly  work,  and  hence  its 
merit  alone  must  be  my  defence  against  the  attacks 
of  those  who  stand  ready  to  resist  any  encroachment 
upon  their  self-appropriated  sphere. 

I  utter  these  sentiments  only  to  assure  you  that  I 
am  fully  aware  of  the  important  results  which  to  me, 
as  an  artist,  wait  on  the  issue  of  my  labors,  and  hence 
that  I  shall  spare  no  pains  to  produce  a  monument 
worthy  of  your  city,  and  worthy  of  the  statesman, 
who,  though  dead,  still  speaks  to  you  in  language 
more  eloquent  and  enduring  than  the  happiest  efforts, 
in  marble  or  bronze,  of  ever  so  cunning  a  work- 
man. 

It  only  remains  for  me  to  add,  that  as  I  shall 
visit  St.  Louis  before  my  departure  for  Europe, 
farther  details  may  then  be  arranged.  I  have  the 
honor  to  remain,  gentlemen, 

Respectfully  yours, 

H.    G.    HOSMER. 

To  Messrs.  J.  B.  Brant, 

Wayman  Crow, 
M.  L.  Linton,  M.  D., 
Committee, 


APPENDIX  B. 
ZENOBIA. 

Perhaps  the  best  criticism  of  Zenobia  was  printed 
in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  December,  1864. 

"  In  dealing  with  this  subject  Miss  Hosmer  has 
united  womanly  dignity  and  delicacy,  with  the  best 
qualities  of  the  firm  masculine  hand.  A  captive 
Queen  compelled  to  grace  tlie  triumph  of  her  con- 
queror, forced  to  deck  herself  in  her  royal  robes,  and 


364.  APPENDICES 

to  move  at  another's  will,  a  Queen  who  has  proved 
her  right  to  her  throne  by  grand  statesmanlike  quali- 
ties, both  moral  and  intellectual; — this  is  the  group  of 
ideas  which  Miss  Hosmer  wished  to  call  up  in  our 
minds.  Has  she  not  done  it?  Motion,  but  reluctant 
motion,  is  expressed  in  the  graceful  limbs;  a  grand 
dignity  in  the  attitude  of  the  broad,  powerful  shoul- 
ders, and  the  firm  column  of  the  throat;  lofty  resigna- 
tion in  the  bent  head;  while  pride  and  sorrow  struggle 
in  the  knotted  brow,  the  level  eyelids,  contracted 
nostrils,  and  scornfully  curled  lip. 

The  fulness  of  the  drapery,  of  which  every  fold 
seems  to  have  a  meaning,  gives  a  peculiar  pleasure  to 
the  eye.  For  years  after  Canova  had  opened  a  new 
era  in  his  art,  the  prevalent  idea  seemed  to  be  that 
sculpture  and  nudity  were  inseparably  united;  that 
the  chief  duty  of  a  sculptor  was  to  model  the  human 
form  skilfully  and  gracefully.  We  are  learning 
something  better  than  this,  but  still  an  American 
going  for  the  first  time  through  the  galleries  of  ancient 
art  in  Europe,  is  apt  to  be  surprised  at  the  number 
and  beauty  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  draped  statues. 
Miss  Hosmer  has  evidently  made  drapery  a  subject 
of  unusually  careful  study  and  the  result  is  that 
Zenobia's  robes  and  mantle  seem  almost  faultless. 
The  ornaments  of  the  diadem  and  fibula,  shoulder-^ 
brooches  and  sandals,  are  kept  well  subordinated  to 
the  whole  effect;  and  though  Aurelian's  triumph  must 
be  heightened  by  the  royal  jewels,  the  majesty  of  the 
still  unconquered  queenly  nature  makes  us  forget 
them.  The  chain,  which  is  an  element  in  the  tragic 
poetry  of  the  subject,  is  also  no  more  conspicuous 
than  the  accessories  of  the  best  ancient  statues,  as  in 
the  scroll  of  Demosthenes,  Minerva's  owl,  or  the 
thyrsus  of  Bacchus. 

The  heroic  proportions  of  the  figure  lend  much 
nobility  to  the  grandeur  of  the  whole,  and  we  feel 


APPENDICES  365 

that  Miss  Hosmer  did  well  in  choosing  this  height  and 
breadth  in  which  to  develop  her  thought,  while  she 
has  perfectly  avoided  the  danger  of  making  us  con- 
scious of  unnatural  size.  And  here  we  see  the  effect 
of  her  great  command  of  anatomy,  the  result  of  dili- 
gent labor.  It  bears  fruit  in  the  satisfaction  we  feel 
in  the  obvious  fitness  of  every  limb  and  muscle  to  do, 
if  it  were  living,  what  it  is  represented  as  doing;  and 
in  the  confidence  unobserved  perhaps  by  ourselves 
with  which  the  eye  passes  from  one  line  to  another, 
sure  of  not  being  provoked  to  questionings  whether 
this  is  in  proportion,  and  that  in  its  true  place.  Un- 
der all  the  drapery  we  feel  that  there  is  the  well-bal- 
anced form;  while  the  perfect  effect  of  rest  in  the 
midst  of  motion,  and  the  irresistible  sense  of  propor- 
tion could  not  come  to  us  from  anything  less  than  the 
most  faithful  anatomical  truthfulness. 

The  unblemished  perfection  of  the  large  block  of 
marble  is  extraordinary,  for  the  statue  is  seven  feet 
high;  and  the  purity  and  softness  of  its  color  is  a 
fortunate  element  in  the  beauty  of  the  whole. 

Such  a  work  of  art  cannot  but  teach  as  well  as  de- 
light us.  It  fills  us  with  a  sympathetic  sense  of 
strength  and  quietness;  and,  while  the  soft,  sweeping 
lines  and  moulded  loveliness  of  every  part  give  pleas- 
ure to  the  eye,  the  grand  endurance  and  determined 
fortitude — expressed  as  well  in  the  open,  placid  right 
hand,  which  hangs  by  her  side,  as  in  the  clenched 
and  strained  left,  which  lifts  the  mantle  and  clutches 
the  insulting  chain,  suggest  only  ennobling  and  elevat- 
ing thoughts. 

In  fact,  one  can  hardly  look  long  at  this  statue  (and 
one  should  look  long,  for  there  is  too  much  enshrined 
in  it  to  be  taken  in  at  a  glance),  without  feeling  that 
it  is  surrounded  by  the  pure,  high  atmosphere  of  real 
art,  and  that  we  know  better,  after  seeing  it,  what  the 
ideal  of  the  sculptor  is  and  ever  should  be." 


366  APPENDICES 

In  the  Chicago  Evening  Journal  of  June  14th, 
1865,  in  an  account  of  the  Exhibition,  occurs  another 
appreciative  mention  of  Zenobia  and  her'  author: 

"  The  Queen  of  the  East  gives  audience,  for  she 
has  arisen  again  under  the  loving  hands  of  a  woman. 
The  Queen  is  Zenobia,  and  the  woman  is  Harriet 
Hosmer.  It  is  of  the  one  rather  than  the  other,  we 
write  to-day. 

And  we  want  to  tell  you  of  a  delicate  little  New 
England  girl  loved  like  Byron's  Ada,  '  sole  daughter 
of  his  house  and  heart.'  Her  father,  a  physician  and 
a  wise  man  withal,  put  into  her  slender  hand  the 
working  oar,  swung  her  up  to  the  saddle,  sent  her 
flying  upon  the  ringing  skate,  taught  her  '  Leather 
Stocking's  science  of  '  sure  death  at  long  range ' — 
all  this  to  save  the  outside  for  the  inside,  that  was 
so  richly  worth  salvation,  and  both  sides  for  the  glory 
and  honor  of  American  art.  This  girl,  the  while, 
was  reading  anatomy  as  if  it  were  a  romance,  and 
her  soul  somehow  slipped  down  to  the  tips  of  her 
restless  fingers  that,  guiltless  of  ink,  were  working 
out  thoughts  in  clay. 

And  this  delicate  girl  became  a  woman,  as  rich  in 
buoyant  life  as  in  genius;  her  bright  eyes  lighted  with 
hope;  her  hand  firm,  her  step  elastic  as  a  fawn's,  her 
laugh  as  full  of  music  as  a  summer  morning.  Before 
us  now,  is  the  counterfeit  presentment  of  that  fine, 
frank  face.  That  head,  with  plenty  of  chamber-room 
for  the  beautiful,  and  as  nearly  like  Thorwaldsen's 
— '  the  royal  Dane  '  of  art — as  a  woman's  ought  to 
be,  the  man  who  began  in  wood  and  ended  in  marble 
and  immortality.  Miss  Hosmer,  with  all  her  gift  of 
soul,  must  have  something  to  wreak  it  on.  One  bap- 
tizes it  in  ink  and  is  satisfied;  another  clothes  it  in 
rainbow  and  is  glorified;  she  laid  her  hands  upon  the 


APPENDICES  367 

dumb  stone,  and  her  soul  flowed  out  upon  it,  it  lived 
and  had  a  being. 

Thirteen  years  ago — how  time  runs  on  like  a  gos- 
sip— she  laid  hands  upon  '  Hesper ' — the  evening 
star  to  all  the  world,  but  the  morning  star  for  her. 
And  then  she  went  away  to  Rome,  that  city  mightier 
in  its  death  than  it  had  been  in  its  life,  and  became 
the  pupil  of  that  kind-hearted,  genial  sculptor,  Gibson, 
who  always  had  a  father's  smile  and  blessing  for  an 
art-lover.  By  and  by,  she  summoned  '  Puck,'  and 
that  '  merry  wanderer  of  the  night '  obeyed  her  bid- 
ding. It  gave  a  promise  and  prophecy,  both  fulfilled 
in  the  Zenobia  that  awaits  admiring  eyes.  Miss  Hos- 
mer  is  a  Roman  now;  she  has  devoted  her  life  to  art; 
but  her  American  heart  beats  as  warmly  as  ever. 
Now  comes  Palmyra's  Queen,  that  graced  Aurelian's 
grand  display,  to  march  again  in  this,  our  triumph. 

This  daughter  of  New  England  has  proudly  vindi- 
cated a  woman's  right  to  stand  at  the  pale  tombs  of 
Paria,  and  grandly  cry:  'Bring  out  your  dead!' 
And  so,  they  brought  out  this  spotless  block  of  the 
marble  of  Carrara — a  thing  for  the  lapidary  rather 
than  the  stone-cutter,  and  worth  eighteen  hundred 
dollars  before  a  being  was  born  out  of  it.  She  lays 
her  hands  upon  it;  under  her  eye  the  marble  shroud 
is  removed  fragment  by  fragment,  until  the  sleeper 
of  sixteen  hundred  years  wakes  from  her  long  repose, 
and  stands,  calm  in  her  scorn,  grand  in  her  grief, 
proud  in  her  humiliation.  Her  left  hand  clutches  the 
chain,  indignant,  her  right  hangs  in  thoughtful  re- 
pose by  her  side.  This  is  the  woman's;  that,  the  out- 
raged Queen's.  The  same  struggle  of  sorrow  that 
is  almost  pride,  and  a  gentleness  that  is  almost  ten- 
derness, are  legible  upon  her  lips. 

But  the  heart  warms  to  the  woman  rather  than  to 
the  queen;  we  regret  the  fallen  state,  but  we  welcome 
her  who  has  descended.     We  forget  the  coronet,  and 


368  APPENDICES 

the  royal  Armenian  robes,  and  all  the  bravery  of  the 
gilded  and  jewelled  sacrifice,  and  accept  the  daughter 
of  the  wandering  Arab,  instead  of  defiant  majesty. 
And  herein,  strangely  enough,  has  Miss  Hosmer 
achieved  a  Republican  triumph.  She  has  illustrated 
for  us  Burns'  line: 

'  The  rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp, 
The  MAN'S  the  gold  for  a'  that,' 

and  has  shown  us  Nature  in  all  her  warmth  and  worth, 
seen  through  the  filmy  veil  of  majesty  that  can  be 
brushed  away  like  a  spider's  web." 


APPENDIX  C. 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 

In  designing  a  monument  to  the  memory  of  Abra- 
ham Lincoln,  I  have  wished  to  express  the  idea  that 
the  Temple  of  Fame  which  we  rear  to  his  memory, 
is  based  upon  the  two  great  acts  of  his  administra- 
tion, viz.  the  emancipation  of  the  slave  and  the  preser- 
vation of  the  American  Union.  I  have,  therefore, 
placed  at  the  four  outer  angles  of  the  lower  base, 
four  statues  which  display  the  progressive  stages  of 
Liberation : 

1st.    The  slave  appears  exposed  in  chains  for  sale. 

2nd.  Laboring  on  a  plantation. 

3rd.  Guiding  and  assisting  the  loyal  troops. 

4th.  Serving  as  a  soldier  of  the  Union. 

The  four  bas-reliefs  around  the  central  base  illus- 
trate the  principal  scenes  in  the  life  of  the  President: 

1st.  His  birth  and  early  occupations  as  builder  of 
log  cabins,  rail  splitter,  flat-boatman  and  farmer. 


APPENDICES  369 

2nd.  His  career  as  a  Lawyer  and  his  inauguration 
as  President  of  the  United  States. 

3rd.  Four  memorable  events  of  the  war,  and 

4th.  The  assassination  of  the  President:  the  funeral 
procession   and   final   interment   at   Springfield. 

Above  these  bas-reliefs  appears  an  octagonal  plinth, 
surmounted  by  the  national  arms  and  bearing  the 
inscription 

Abraham  Lincoln 
Martyr  President  of  the  United  States 
Emancipator  of  four  millions  of  men 
Preserver  of  the  American  Union. 

These  inscriptions  being  supplemented  by  mourn- 
ing Victories  stricken  down  at  the  moment  of  pro- 
claiming their  triumph.  Upon  this  octagonal  plinth 
rests  a  circular  base,  which  forms  the  immediate  base 
of  the  Temple,  and  which  contains  a  bas-relief  rep- 
resenting thirty-six  female  figures,  hand  in  hand,  sym- 
bolical of  the  union  of  the  thirty-six  states.  When 
executed  in  full  proportions,  each  would  represent  the 
peculiar  character  of  that  state  whose  shield  accom- 
panies the  medallion  above.  Upon  the  circular  base 
rise  the  eight  columns  of  the  Temple,  in  the  centre  of 
which  is  placed  a  Sarcophagus  bearing  a  recumbent 
figure  of  the  President,  while  upon  the  architrave  of 
the  Temple  are  inscribed  the  concluding  words  of  the 
Proclamation  of  Emancipation: 

"  And  upon  this,  sincerely  believed  to  be  an  act  of 
justice,  I  invoke  the  considerate  judgment  of  man- 
kind and  the  gracious  favor  of  Almighty  God." 


370  APPENDICES 

APPENDIX  D. 
THE  PROCESS  OF  SCULPTURE. 

By  Harriet  Hosmer. 

I  have  heard  so  much  lately,  about  artists  who  do 
not  do  their  own  work,  that  I  feel  disposed  to  raise 
the  veil  upon  the  mysteries  of  the  studio,  and  enable 
those  who  are  interested  in  the  subject  to  form  a  just 
conception  of  the  amount  of  assistance  to  which  a, 
sculptor  is  fairly  entitled,  as  well  as  to  correct  the 
false  but  very  general  impression,  that  the  artist 
beginning  with  the  crude  block,  and  guided  by  his 
imagination  only,  hews  out  his  statue  with  his  own 
hands. 

So  far  from  this  being  the  case,  the  first  labor  of  the 
sculptor  is  upon  a  small  clay  model,  in  which  he  care- 
fully studies  the  composition  of  his  statue,  the  pro- 
portions, and  the  general  arrangement  of  the  drapery, 
without  regard  to  very  careful  finish  of  parts.  This 
being  accomplished,  and  the  small  model  cast  in  plas- 
ter, he  employs  some  one  to  enlarge  his  work  to  any 
size  which  he  may  require;  and  this  is  done  by  scale, 
and  with  almost  as  much  precision  as  the  full-size  and 
perfectly  finished  model  is  afterwards  copied  in 
marble. 

The  first  step  in  this  process  is  to  form  a  skeleton 
of  iron,  the  size  and  strength  of  the  iron  rods  corre- 
sponding to  the  size  of  the  figure  to  be  modelled;  and 
here,  not  only  strong  hands  and  arms  are  requisite, 
but  the  blacksmith  with  his  forge,  many  of  the  irons 
requiring  to  be  heated  and  bent  upon  the  anvil  to 
the  desired  angle.  This  solid  framework  being  pre- 
pared, and  the  various  irons  of  which  it  is  composed 
firmly  wired  and  welded  together,  the  next  thing  is 
to  hang  thereon  a  series  of  crosses,  often  several  hun- 


APPENDICES  371 

dred  in  number,  formed  by  two  bits  of  wood,  two 
or  three  inches  in  length,  fastened  together  by  wire, 
one  end  of  which  is  attached  to  the  framework.  All 
this  is  necessary  for  the  support  of  the  clay,  which 
would  otherwise  fall  by  its  own  weight.  (I  speak  here 
of  Roman  clay, — the  clay  obtained  in  many  parts 
of  England  and  America  being  more  properly  pot- 
ter's clay,  and  consequently  more  tenacious.)  The 
clay  is  then  pressed  firmly  around  and  upon  the  irons 
and  crosses  with  strong  hands  and  a  wooden  mallet, 
until,  from  a  clumsy  and  shapeless  mass,  it  acquires 
some  resemblance  to  the  human  form.  When  the  clay 
is  properly  prepared,  and  the  work  advanced  as  far 
as  the  artist  desires,  his  own  work  is  resumed,  and 
he  then  laboriously  studies  every  part,  corrects  his 
ideal  by  comparison  with  living  models,  copies  his 
drapery  from  actual  drapery  arranged  upon  the  lay- 
figure,  and  gives  to  his  statue  the  last  refinement  of 
beauty. 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  there  is  an  intermediate 
stage,  even  in  the  clay,  when  the  work  passes  com- 
pletely out  of  the  sculptor's  hands  and  is  carried  for- 
ward by  his  assistant, — the  work  on  which  the  latter 
is  employed,  however,  obviously  requiring  not  the 
least  exercise  of  creative  power,  which  is  essentially 
the  attribute  of  the  artist.  To  perform  the  part 
assigned  him,  it  is  not  necessary  that  the  assistant 
should  be  a  man  of  imagination  or  refined  taste, — it 
is  sufficient  that  he  have  simply  the  skill,  with  the 
aid  of  accurate  measurements,  to  construct  the  frame- 
work of  iron  and  to  copy  the  small  model  before  him. 
But  in  originating  that  small  model,  when  the  artist 
had  nothing  to  work  from  but  the  image  existing  in 
his  own  brain,  imagination,  refined  feeling,  and  a 
sense  of  grace  were  essential,  and  were  called  into 
constant  exercise.  So,  again,  when  the  clay  model 
returns  into  the  sculptor's  hands,  and  the  work  ap^ 


372  APPENDICES 

proaches  completion,  often  after  the  labor  of  many 
months,  it  is  he  alone  who  infuses  into  the  clay  that 
refinement  and  individuality  of  beauty  which  con- 
stitute his  '  style,'  and  which  are  the  test  of  the 
greater  or  less  degree  of  refinement  of  his  mind,  as 
the  force  and  originality  of  the  conception  are  the 
test  of  his  intellectual  power. 

The  clay  model  having  at  last  been  rendered  as 
perfect  as  possible,  the  sculptor's  work  upon  the 
statue  is  virtually  ended;  for  it  is  then  cast  in  plaster 
and  given  into  the  hands  of  the  marble-workers,  bj'^ 
whom,  almost  entirely,  it  is  completed,  the  sculptor 
merely  directing  and  correcting  the  work  as  it  pro- 
ceeds. This  disclosure,  I  am  aware,  will  shock  the 
many,  who  often  ingeniously  discover  traces  of  the 
sculptor's  hand  where  they  do  not  exist.  It  is  true, 
that  in  some  cases,  the  finishing  touches  are  intro- 
duced by  the  artist  himself;  but  I  suspect  that  few 
who  have  accomplished  and  competent  workmen  give 
much  of  their  time  to  the  mallet  or  the  chisel,  pre- 
ferring to  occupy  themselves  with  some  new  creation, 
or  considering  that  these  implements  may  be  more 
advantageously  wielded  by  those  who  devote  them- 
selves exclusively  to  their  use.  It  is  also  true,  that, 
although  the  process  of  transferring  the  statue  from 
plaster  to  marble  is  reduced  to  a  science  so  perfect 
that  to  err  is  almost  impossible,  yet  much  depends 
upon  the  workmen  to  whom  this  operation  is  intrusted. 
Still,  their  position  in  the  studio  is  a  subordinate  one. 
They  translate  the  original  thought  of  the  sculptor, 
written  in  clay,  into  the  language  of  marble.  The 
translator  may  do  his  work  well  or  ill, — he  may  ap- 
preciate .  and  preserve  the  delicacy  of  sentiment  and 
grace  which  were  stamped  upon  the  clay,  or  he  may 
render  the  artist's  meaning  coarsely  and  unintelligibly. 
Then  it  is  that  the  sculptor  himself  must  reproduce 
his  ideal  in  the  marble,  and  breathe  into  it  that  vitality 


APPENDICES  373 

which,  many  contend,  only  the  artist  can  inspire.  But, 
whether  skilful  or  not,  the  relation  of  these  workmen 
to  the  artist  is  precisely  the  same  as  that  of  the  mere 
linguist  to  the  author  who,  in  another  tongue,  has 
given  to  the  world  some  striking  fancy  or  original 
thought. 

*'iit         ^         ^         -It 
•o  1*  •?»  ^p 

When  Thorwaldsen  was  called  upon  to  execute 
his  twelve  statues  of  the  Apostles,  he  designed  and 
furnished  the  small  models,  and  gave  them  into  the 
hands  of  his  pupils  and  assistants,  by  whom,  almost 
exclusively,  they  were  copied  in  their  present  colossal 
dimensions.  The  great  master  rarely  put  his  own 
hand  to  the  clay;  yet  we  never  hear  them  spoken 
of  except  as  "  Thorwaldsen's  statues."  When  Vogel- 
berg  accepted  the  commission  to  model  his  colossal 
equestrian  statue  of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  physical 
infirmity  prevented  the  artist  from  even  mounting 
the  scaffolding;  but  he  made  the  small  model,  and 
directed  the  several  workmen  employed  upon  the  full- 
size  statue  in  clay,  and  we  never  heard  it  intimated 
that  Vogelberg  was  not  the  sculptor  of  that  great 
work.  Even  Crawford,  than  whom  none  ever  pos- 
sessed a  more  rapid  or  facile  hand,  could  never  have 
accomplished  half  the  immense  amount  of  work  which 
pressed  upon  him  in  his  later  years,  had  he  not  had 
more  than  one  pair  of  hands  to  aid  him  in  giving  out- 
ward form  to  the  images  in  his  fertile  brain.  Nay, 
not  to  refer  solely  to  artists  who  are  no  longer  among 
us,  I  could  name  manv  studios,  both  in  Rome  and 
England,  belonging  to  our  brothers  in  Art,  in  which 
the  assistant-modeller  forms  as  necessary  a  part  of 
studio-"  property  "  as  the  living  model  or  the  marble- 
worker.  If  there  are  a  few  instances  in  which  the 
sculptor  himself  conducts  his  clay  model  through  every 


874  APPENDICES 

stage,   it  is  iisiiallj'^  because  pecuniary  considerations 
prevent  his  employing  a  professional  modeller. 

I  do  not  wish  it  to  be  supposed  that  Thorwaldsen's 
general  practice  was  such  as  I  have  described  in  the 
particular  case  referred  to:  probably  no  artist  ever 
studied  or  worked  more  carefully  upon  the  clay  model 
than  he  did.  What  I  have  stated  was  only  with  the 
view  of  showing  to  what  extent  he  felt  himself  justi- 
fied in  employing  assistance. 

*j^  *j£,  "If,  *y, 

*•*  ^i*  *!*  's* 

Nor  should  we  forget — to  draw  for  examples  upon 
a  kindred  art — how  largely  the  painters  of  the  fif- 
teenth and  sixteenth  centuries  relied  upon  the  me- 
chanical skill  of  their  pupils  to  assist  them  in 
producing  the  great  works  which  bear  their  names. 
All  the  painters  of  note  of  that  time,  had  their  pupils, 
to  whom  was  intrusted  much  of  the  laborious  portion 
of  their  work,  the  master  furnishing  the  design  and 
superintending  its  execution.  Raphael,  for  instance, 
could  never  have  left  one-half  the  treasures  of  Art 
which  adorn  the  Vatican  and  enrich  other  galleries, 
had  he  depended  solely  upon  the  rapidity  of  his  own 
hand;  and  of  the  many  frescoes  which  exist  in  the 
Farnese  Palace,  and  are  called  "  Raphael's  frescoes," 
there  are  but  two  in  which  is  to  be  traced  the  mas- 
ter's hand, — the  Galatea,  and  one  of  the  compart- 
ments in  the  series  representing  the  story  of  Cupid 
and  Psyche. 

It  will  thus  be  seen  how  large  a  portion  of  the 
manual  labor  which  is  supposed  to  devolve  entirely 
upon  the  artist  is,  and  has  always  been,  really  per- 
formed by  other  hands  than  his  own.  I  do  not  state 
this  fact  in  a  whisper,  as  if  it  were  a  great  disclosure 
which  involved  the  honor  of  the  artist;  it  is  no  secret, 
and  there  is  no  reason  why  it  should  be.  The  dis- 
closure, it  is  true,  will  be  received  by  all  who  regard 


APPENDICES  375 

sculpture  as  simply  a  mechanical  art,  with  a  feeling 
of  disappointment.  They  will  brand  the  artist  who 
cannot  lay  claim  to  the  entire  manipulation  of  his 
statue,  whether  in  clay  or  marble,  as  an  impostor, — 
nor  will  they  resign  the  idea  that  the  truly  con- 
scientious sculptor  will  carve  every  ornament  upon 
his  sandals  and  polish  every  button  upon  his  drapery. 
But  those  who  look  upon  sculpture  as  an  intellectual 
art,  requiring  the  exercise  of  taste,  imagination,  and 
delicate  feeling,  will  never  identify  the  artist  who 
conceives,  composes,  and  completes  the  design  with 
the  workman  who  simply  relieves  him  from  great 
physical  labor,  however  delicate  some  portion  of  that 
labor  may  be.  It  should  be  a  recognized  fact,  that 
the  sculptor  is  as  fairly  entitled  to  avail  himself  of 
mechanical  aid  in  the  execution  of  his  work  as  the 
architect  to  call  into  requisition  the  services  of  the 
stone-mason  in  the  erection  of  his  edifice,  or  the  poet 
to  employ  the  printer  to  give  his  thoughts  to  the 
world.  Probably  the  sturdy  mason  never  thinks  much 
about  proportion,  nor  the  type-setter  much  about 
harmony;  but  the  master-minds  which  inspire  the 
strong  arm  and  cunning  finger  with  motion  think 
about  and  study  both.  It  is  time  that  some  distinc- 
tion should  be  made  between  the  labor  of  the  hand 
and  the  labor  of  the  brain. 

***** 

Miss  Hosmer,  like  all  true  lovers  of  art,  unceasingly 
deplored  our  tariff  on  all  art  objects,  and  several  years 
ago,  in  a  letter  to  one  of  our  leading  journals,  wrote 
deprecatory  words,  which  are,  in  some  degree,  ap- 
plicable perhaps  now.    She  said: 

"  Despite  the  efforts  of  the  great  minority,  all 
praise  be  to  it!  art  has  been  too  heavily  handicapped. 


376  APPENDICES 

The  causes  are  not  far  to  seek.  The  unhealthful 
restlessness  of  life,  the  love  of  sensation,  the  lack  of 
serenity,  the  too  frequent  seasons  of  political  excite- 
ment; life,  in  short,  at  highest  pressure  presents  an 
array  of  conditions  which  cannot  but  tend  to  render 
the  gentler  arts  of  slow  and  uncertain  growth.  Again, 
we  are  a  practical  people,  and,  so  far  as  I  can  dis- 
cover, care  very  little  where  sculpture  is  concerned, 
for  other  than  portraiture,  interesting  enough  as  his- 
tory, but  by  reason  of  the  monstrously  inartistic  cos- 
tumes of  our  time,  ungrateful  as  art,  to  the  cultivated 
taste. 

Does  this  duty  levied  upon  foreign  art  gratify  our 
own  artists?  ,By  no  means,  as  a  body  they  are  the 
first  to  pronounce  it  illiberal,  ungenerous,  and  im- 
politic. Three  times  within  my  recollection  have  the 
American  artists  in  Rome  presented  petitions  to  Con- 
gress praying  that  all  tax  upon  foreign  art  be  re- 
moved. In  Italy,  as  elsewhere  abroad,  art  gal- 
leries, public  and  private,  are  freely  opened  to  us, 
every  aid  and  courtesy  is  offered  us,  and  the  cour- 
tesy we  have  devised  in  exchange  is  a  tax  to  practi- 
cally exclude  all  works  of  foreign  artists  from  our 
shores. 

To  music,  a  sister  art,  we  are  far  more  hospitable. 
No  tax  is  levied  upon  the  voices  of  the  '  primi  asso- 
luti/  If  we  cared  for  art  in  other  forms  as  we  care  for 
operatic  art  this  prohibitive  duty  upon  canvas  and 
marble  would  not  survive  a  day. 

To  King  Humbert  of  Italy  is  due  the  inauguration 
of  a  system  which  should  be  adopted  by  all  nations 
calling  themselves  civilized.  He  causes  to  sit  in  the 
Roman  Senate  a  given  number  of  professional  artists 
competent  to  pronounce  upon  subjects  affecting  the 
interests  and  decorum  of  art.  When  we  have  a  like 
number  of  competent  artists  sitting  in  our  own  Senate 


APPENDICES  377 

we  may  hope  that  the  official  mind  will  be  aroused 
to  the  fact  that  our  country,  pioneer  in  many  things 
good  and  great,  of  all  nations,  has  placed  the  most 
effectual  bar  upon  the  true  progress  of  art. 

Haeeiet  G.  Hosmee. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


African   Sibyl,   the,   319,   320,   321, 
322 

Alban  Hills,  the,  108 

Alcestis,  of  William  Story,  336 
^^Alford,  Lady  Marian,  24,  53,  88, 
154,  179,  185,  204,  236,  23T,  246, 
251,  265,  266,  275,  276,  277,  278, 
294,  314;  the  death  of,  318,  325, 
350 

Alford,  Viscount,  237 

Ampere,  33 

Andersen,  Hans,  177 

Antonelli,  Cardinal,  287 

Appian  Way,  the,  112 

Appleton,  Mrs.  Samuel,  23,  24 

Apuleia,    113 

Apuleius,  112 

^Ashburton,    Louisa,    Lady,   97,    129, 

"^     130,   131,   209,  224,  225,  232,  236, 

246,  259,  265,   266,  275,  276,  277, 

298,   299,  302,   311,  313,  319;   the 

death  of,  354,  355,  356 

Ashby,  Castle,  325,  348 

Ashridge,    235,   237-251 

Assunta,   103,   104 

Aurora  Leigh,  65,  99 

Austen,  Jane,   347 

Australia,  Miss  d',  121 

Austria,  the  Empress  of,  280,  281, 
290,   291 

Autobiography,  152 

B 

Ballakillrain  Castle,  299 

Bancroft,  Mr.,  199 

Baring,    Hon.    Miss,   311 

Bavaria,  King  of,  344 

Beecher,   Rev.    Henry   Ward,   199 

Belisarius,  113 

Bellosguardo,    101 

Bellows,  Rev.  Dr.  Henry  and  Mrs., 

90,    199,    265 
Benton,  Colonel  Thomas  Hart,  141; 


Monument  of,  157,  160,  170,  180, 

181,  182,  260,  261,  262 
Bierstadt,   Mr.,   199 
Blagden,  Miss   Isabella,  45,  48,  59, 

63,   68,   93,    100,   132 
Bloomfield,  Lady,  letter  of,  257 
Bliicher,    von,    23 
Bonheur,    Rosa,    60,    169 
Botta,  Madame,  199 
Boxall,    Sir    William,    53,    83,    280, 

301;  letter  of,  315,  316 
Boyle,   Hon.   Miss   Mary,   238,  239, 

245,    316 
Brahan   Castle,   313 
Bremer,   Fredrika,  3,  135 
Brewer,  Mr.  Gardner,  221 
Briggs,   Lady,  346 
Briggs,  Sir  Thomas  Graham,  346 
Broadlands,  312 
Broughton,  Miss  Rhoda,  365 
Brownlow,  Earl,  237,  266,  311 
Browning,    Mrs.    Elizabeth    Barrett, 

33;    letter    of,   47,   48,    49;    letter 

of,  68,   76,  94,  99,   100,   101,   105, 

106,   107,   110,   114,   154,   169,   180, 

245,  279 
Browning,    Penini,    45,    47,    69,    93, 

120 
Browning,  Mr.  Robert,  33;  letter  of, 

44,   49,   50;    letter    of,   58;    letter 

of,    63;    letter    of,    79;    letter    of, 

93,    95,    97,    101,    114;    letter    of, 

120,   180;   "poem,"   275,  276,  277, 

319,  354 
Browning,  Miss  Sarianna,  275,  276, 

277 
Brownings,  the,  32,  48,  92,  94,  322, 

323 
Bryant,    Mr.    William    CuUen,    53, 

199 
Buckingham,  Duchess  of,  236,  237 
Buckingham,  Duke  of,  237 
Billow,  von,  24 

Bunker    Hill,   the   Ghost   of,   239 
Butler,    Mr.    Pierce,    21 
Butler,  Miss  Sarah,  51,  71 


381 


382 


INDEX 


Cacciatore,  the,  71 

Camillo,    168 

Campagna,    the,    33,    42,    110,    113, 

114,   140,   170,   183,  324,  336 
Campidoglio  Faun,  the,  310 
Canova,  21,  22,   150 
Cardwell,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  53,  84,  88 
Caretta  drive,  the,   101 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  60,  100,  190,  309, 
_354 

^larr,   Harriet   Hosmer,  54,   62,   63, 
T35 

Cartwright,  Mr,,  81 
Casa  Guidi,  99,   101 
Cass,  Mrs.,   Bust  of,  46 
Cavour,   Count,    178,   296,   345 
Cenci,    Beatrice,   Statue   of,  40,   53, 

69,  76,  78,  80,  82,  84,  85,  87,  90, 

140,  278 
Child,  Mr.  Francis  J.,  3 
Child,    Mrs.    Lydia    Maria,    13,    15; 

letter  of,  126;  letter  of,  145;  let- 
ter of,   161,  191 
Childs,   Mr.   and   Mrs.   George,   13, 

15,  270 
Church,    Mr.,    199 
Clarendon,   iLord,   67 
Clasped    Hands    of    Mr.    and    Mrs. 

Browning,  the,  92 
Claudian   Aqueduct,  the,   108 
Clemens,       Samuel       L,       ("  Mark 

Twain"),    9 
Cleveland,    Duchess    of,    234 
Clifford,  Mr.  Edward,  354 
Clift,    Mr.,    78 
.,<;obbe.    Miss    Frances    Power,    189, 

231,  336 
Coleridge,  Sir  John,  316 
CoUyer,   Rev.   Dr.   Robert,  221 
Columbus,  329-342 
Compton,  Lady  Alwyne,  233;  letter 

of,  294,  296,  324,  348,  349,  350 
Compton  Wynyates,  353 
Cork,  Earl  of,  245 
Corkham,  Miss  Alice,  341 
Coulin,  266 

Cowper-Temple,    Mr.,    312 
Cranford,   98 
Crawford,  Thomas,   23,   53,   72,   88, 

193 
Crimean  War,  the,  34,  52,   160,  343 
Crow,  Mr.  Wayman,  3,  8,  23,  25,  39, 

184,  199;  letter  of,  260,  264;  the 

death  of,  317 


Curtis,    Mr.    William,    165 
^ushman,  Miss  Charlotte,  16,  17,  23, 
53,   62,   71,   78,  83,   143,   144,   152, 
158,   184,   187,   188,  209,  211,  224, 
259,   267,  279;   death   of,  306 

Cushman,  Mr.  Edwin  C,  256,  259 

D 

Daphne,  the  bust  of,  26,  27,  30,  33, 

41,    42 
Dent's,  Mrs.,  Bonnet,  207 
Devonshire,    Duke   of,   39 
Dickens,   Mr.   Charles,  66 
Doyle,    Mr.,    208 
Drumraond,  the  Messrs.,  130,  131 
Dryads,  the  death  of  the,  224 
y'^undas.    Miss    Anne,    73,    116,    169, 
182,   185,   267;   letter  of,  342 
Dundas,  Mrs.,  356 
Durant,   Miss,    173 

E 

Eastlake,  Lady,  letter  of,  157,  186, 

216;  letter  of,  316 
Eastlake,    Sir    Charles,    72,    73,    79, 

84,   88,    158,   209 
Edward    VII,    King,   352 
Elgin  Marbles,  the,  333 
Eliot,  Rev.  Dr.  William  G.,  264 
Ellis,   General,   343 
Ely,  the  Lord  Bishop  of,  325,  349, 

350 
Ely  Cathedral,  349 
Emerson,  Mr,  Ralph  Waldo,  3,  162 
Emmons,  Mrs.  Robert  W.,  348 
Emmons,  Mr.   Robert  W.,  199 
Everett,  Mr.  Edward,  163 
Exhibition,    Dublin,    213 
Exhibition,  London,  40 
Exposition,  Paris,  226 

F 

Falconnet,  Madame,  115,  140 
Falconnet,  Mile.  Julie,   115 
Falconnet  Monument,  the,  115 
Farragut,  Admiral,  259 
Faun,   the   Sleeping,   207,   208,   209, 

210,  213,  223,  226,  227,  258,  259, 

279,  327,  343 
Faun,  the  Waking,  220,  221,  223,  259 
Flush-my-dog,  48 
Forster,  Mr.  John,  letter  of,  301 
Frederick,  the  Empress,  343 
Fremont,  General  John  C,  260,  261 


INDEX 


383 


Fremont,   Mrs.  Jessie   Benton,  260, 

261,    262 
French,   Mr.   Daniel,  332 
Fountain   of   Hylas   and   the   water 

nymphs,   123,  *170 
Fountain  of  the  Mermaid's   Cradle, 

326,    327 
Fountain    of    the    Siren,    178,    183, 

211,  318 

G 

Garibaldi,  296,  345 

Garrison,   Mr.   William  Lloyd,   162 

Gaskell,  Mrs.,  98 

Gibbon,  259 

Gibson,  Mr.  John,  21,  22,  23,  24, 
25,  26,  27,  35,  39,  41,  46,  53,  58, 
67,  71,  72,  80;  letter  of,  87;  letter 
of,  89,  94,  116,  117,  121;  letter  of, 
131;  letter  of,  133,  137,  140,  150, 
151,  153,  160,  162,  166,  167,  168, 
169,  171;  letter  of,  181,  182,  184, 
187,  188,  193,  210;  the  death  of, 
216,  217,  262,  265,  311 

GiflFord,   Mr.,   199 

Giovanni,  the  story  of,   111 

Girolomo,  101 

Gladiator,  the  Dying,  310,  333 

Gladiator,   the   Fighting,  310,  333 

Gladstone,  the  Hon.  William  E.,  53, 
129;  letter  of,  227 
-^Greenwood,  Miss  Grace,  23 

Grey,   Mr.   Henry   Peters,   199 

Griswold,   Mr.   Almon,    199,   202 

Guinness,  Sir  Benjamin,  208,  209 

H 

Hamilton,  Duke  of,  123 
Hands,  the  clasped,  92 
Hannibal,  the  battleground  of,  74 
Hare,  Mr.   Augustus,  326 
Hawthorne,    Mr.    Nathaniel,    3,    53, 

92,   156,   159,   210,   217 
Hay,  Mr.   Robert,  88,   167,   182 
-^ayes.  Miss  Matilda,  16-17,  18,  23, 

59;  letter  of,  69 
Head,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  84 
Herberts,   the,   311 
Hercules,  78,  206 
Hercules,  the   Farnese,  74 
Hesper,   the    bust    of,    15,    18,   21 
Hesse,  Duke  of,  344 
Hesse,  Princess  Alice  of,  344 
Hillard,  Mr.   George,   198,  199 
Holbein,  312 


Holland,    the    Queen    of,    122,    307, 

345 
Holland,  Sir  W.,  84 
Hood's   Bridge   of   Sighs,  214 
Hooker,    Mr.,    149,    259 
Hooper,    Mr.    Samuel,    72 
Hope,  Mr.,  39 
Hosmer,    Dr.    Hiram,    1;    letter   of, 

7,   16,   22,   28,   34,   155;   death   of, 

183 
Hosmer,  Mount,  11,  12 
Houghton,  Lord,  53,  313 
Houghton,   Rev.    Mr.,   letter   of,   12 
Humboldt,   Alexander   von,   24,   125 
Hunt,   Mr.    Holman,    161,    175 
Huntington,  Rev,  Dr.,  199 


Ironmonger,   Miss,   67 
Isabella,  Queen,  of  Castile,  328,  329, 
330,  342 


Jameson,  Mrs.  Anna,  53,  80,  92,  93, 
94,  97,  101,  102,  104,  105,  106, 
107,  121,  123;  letter  of,  149;  death 
of,  158 

Jameson's,  Mrs.,  Legendary  Art,  96 

Johnson,   Mr.    Eastman,    199 

Jones,  Inigo,  233,  312 


Kerable,    Mr.    Charles,    52 

Kemble,  Mrs.  Frances  Anne,  3,  4,  6, 
21,  23,  25,  26;  letter  of,  27,  32, 
33,  41;  letter  of,  50,  71,  115,  135; 
letter  of,  137,  138,  139,  164,  184, 
204,  205;  letter  of,  212,  279-288 

King,    Rev.   Starr,   331 

Krout,  Miss  M.  H.,  345 


Laboucheres,  the,  84 

Lady  of  the  Lake,  the,  313 

Lanib,  Mr.  Charles,  300 

Landscer,  Sir  Edwin,  354 

Laocoon,   the,   310 

Lavard,    Sir    Henry,   53;   letter   of, 

136;  letter  of,  159;  letter  of,  172, 

184,  226;   letter  of,  227 
Leighton,  Sir  Frederick,  47,  60,  64, 

66,  67,  77,  81,   107,  336,  337,  338, 

339,   340,   341,   342,   357 
Lenox,   2,   3,   4,   8,  35 


384? 


INDEX 


Ldncoln,    Abraham,    Monument    to, 

226,     227,     265,     318,     319,     320, 

321 
Lloyd,    Miss    Mary,    188,    189,    216, 

231,  279 
Loch  Luichart,  313 
Locker,  Lady  Charlotte,   53 
London,  the  Bishop  of,  84 
Longfellow,  Mr.  Henry  W.,  53,  270, 

280,   347 
Lowell,  Mr.  James  Russell,  95,  162, 

347 
Ludwig    I,    King   of    Bavaria,    109, 

272,  273,  345 
Ludwig  II,   King  of  Bavaria,  272, 

273 
Lyell,  Lady,  169 
Lyons,  Lord,  33,  67,  161,  163,  212, 

314 
Lytton,  Sir  Edward  Bulwer,  93 

M 

Mainwaring,  Mr.,   131 

Margharita,  the  Princess,  302 

Mary,  the  Princess,  246 

Maximilian,  227,  345 

Mazzini,   18 

McDowell,  Dr.  J.  N.,  8,  12;  letter 

of,  19,  20,  21,  23,  S3;   letter   of, 

125 
Mackenzie,  Mrs.  Stewart,  313 
Mead,   Dr.   Julian,    15 
Mead,  Mr.  Larkin  G.,  227 
Medusa,   the   bust   of,   24,   33,    185, 

222 
Melchet   Court,   225,   237,   298,   300, 

313,  327,  353 
Mercury,  the,  310 
Mercury,   the,   of   Florence,   74 
Michael   Angelo,   15,  327,  334 
Millmore,  Mr.,  332 
Missouri    Ruffian,    162 
Morgan,   Mr.   and   Mrs.,  204,  205 
Morley,  Lady,  84 
Morpheus,  74 
Mosier,  Mr.,  23 
Motley,    Mr.,   257 
MuUer,  Herr,  296 
Murchison,    Sir    Roderick,   84,   275, 

276,  277 

N 

Naples,    Francis   II,    King  of,   295, 
306,  307,  308,  350 


•Naples,  Queen  of,  270,  271,  273, 
279,  280,  281,  289,  290,  295,  296, 
297,   306,   307,  308,   325,   350 

Napoleon   III,  Emperor,  227,  285 

Neapolitan  Psyche,  the,  333 

Nicholas,  Czar,  343 

Night  rising  with  the  Stars,  a  bas- 
relief  of,  70 

Nigliarini,   Professor,    120 

Northampton,  Marquis  of,  154,  233, 
311 

Northumberland,  Duke  and  Duchess 
of,  132 

Notre  Dame,  Victor  Hugo's,  127 

O 

CEnone,   the  statue   of,  42,  71,   72, 

76,    79 
Orsini,  Princess,  225 
Ottery  Park,  316 


Page,  Mr.  William,  28,  45,  47,  60, 

65,   68,   81,   121,   162 
Pakenham,     Hooker     &     Company, 

149 
Palladio,  312 
Palmer,  Mrs.  Potter,  199 
Palmerston,    Lord    and    Lady,    84, 

312 
Peabody,  Miss  Elizabeth,  32 
Peabody,  George,  250 
Pembroke,  Earl  of,  311 
Pembroke,  Lady,  311 
Phidias,    353 

Phillips,  Mr.  Wendell,  162 
Phosphor  and  Hesper,  70 
Piedmont,  Prince  and   Princess  of, 

289 
Pierce,  Professor  Benjamin,  290 
Plowden,  Mr.,  303 
Pocahontas,    146 
Pompeian  Sentinel,  246 
Pope    Pius    IX,    41,    250,    259,    283, 

284,  285,  286,  287,  288,  289,  292, 

297,  345 
Portarlington,  Earl  of,  123 
Portsmouth,  Lady,  353 
Powers,  Mr.   Hiram,  46,   160 
Praxiteles,   23,  210,   223;   the  Faun 

of,  333 
Puck,  the  statue  of,  76,  78,  79,  123, 

135,    163,   278,   290,   343 
Puns,   upon,   95 


INDEX 


385 


Q 

Quaire,    Comtesse    du,    121 
Queen   Elizabeth,  233,  234,  238 

R 

Raby   Castle,  234,  235 
Raphael,   150,  222,  298 
Rauch,   Christian,  24,  27 
Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  298,  313 
Richmond,  Mr.,  303 
Robbins,  Miss  Ellen,  203 
Rocca  di  Papa,  109 
Rogers,  Mr.  Samuel,  259 
Rosa,   the   apparition   of,    128 
Rubens,  298 
Ruskin,  60 

Russell,  Mr.  George,  162 
Russia,  Empress  of,  343 
Russian  Decorations,  343 


Sabine  Hills,  the,  108 

St.  Albans,  Duchess  of,  24 

St.   Peter's,   the  illumination   of,  70 

San    Andrea    delle    Fratte,    Church 

of,   115 
Sandbach,  Mr.,  88,  131 
Sartoris,  Mrs.   Adelaide  Kemble,  23, 

26,  32,  33,  41,   59,  60,  64,   67,  77, 

81,   83,    121,    138;    letter   of,    231, 

232,  233;  letter  of,  314,  339,  345 
Sartoris,  Mr.  Edward,  52,  60,  64 
Saul,  Browning's  poem  of,  112 
Saul,  Statue  of,  by  William  Story, 

208 
Scheffer,  Ary,  18,  66 
Schiller,  138,  139 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  313,  325 
Seaforth,  Lord,  313 
Sedg^vick,    Miss    Catherine    M.,    3; 

letter  of,   5,  90,   199 
Sedgwick,  Mr.  Charles,  3 
Sedg\vick,    Mrs.    Charles,   2,   40,   51, 

191,  212 
Sedgwick,    Major    William    Dwight, 

212 
Shaw,  Mr.  Frank  G.,  162 
Shaw,   Mrs.   Sarah,   162 
Sheridan,   General,  290 
Shortall,  Mr.  John  G.,  209;  letter  of, 

346 
Somers,   Lady,   294 
Somerville,    Mrs.    Mary,    187,    189, 

347 


Spence,   Mr.,  23,   88,   134,   135 

Staghound,  the,  291 

Stanton,   Canon,   349 

Stebbins^_^iss   Emina,  144,  187 

Storys,   the,    53,    123' 

Story,    Miss    Edith,    275,    276,    277, 

303,   334 
Story,    Mr.    William    Wetmore,    96, 

193,  245,  250,  275,  276,  277,  303; 

letter  of,  334,  335 
Story,  Mrs.,  47,  275,  276,  277,  279, 

302,  303 
Stowe,   Mrs.    Harriet   Beecher,   136, 

199 
Stuart,   Mary,   Queen,  349 
Stuart-Wortleys,  the,  311 
Studio  of  Harriet  Hosmer,  211,  278 
Sturgess,  Mr.,  303 
Sumner,  Mr.  Charles,  letter  of,  204 


Tail,    Archbishop,   84,   96 

Tait,  Mrs.,  84 

Talbot,  Lady  Adelaide,  78,  212 

Talbot,  Lady  Constance,  78 

Tenerani,  the  sculptor,  72 

Tennyson,  Mr.  Alfred,  his  poem  of 

Maud,  60,  319 
Terry,   Mr.,   23 
Thackerays,   the,   32,   53 
Thackeray,  Miss  Annie,  232 
Thorwaldsen,  21,  25,  39,  150,  334 
Thrasimene,   Lake   of,   74 
Titian,  298 

Tor  di   Mezza  Via,   112 
Torso,  called  Michael  Angelo's,  334 
Trollopes,  the,  57 
Tschudi,  Clara,  297 
Tuckerman,  Mr.,  199 
"Twain,  Mark,"  9,  327 


v.,   Mr.,   30,  34,  37,   53,   72 

Vallombrosa,  334,  335 

Vandyke,  312 

Venus    of   Milo,   333 

Victor    Emmanuel,   King,   283,   286, 

287,  288,  289,  296 
Victoria,  H.  M.  Queen,  22,  246,  307, 

344,  352 
Visions,  Psychic,  129 

W 


Waegen,    84 
Wagner,    273,    274 


386 


INDEX 


Wales,  The  Prince  of,  162,  163,  184,      Will-o-the-Wisp,  the  statue  of,  221, 


209,  378,   343 
Walpoles,  the,  53 
Ware,  Mr.  William,  193 
Warwick,  Lady,  306,  30T,  308 
Warwick,   Lord,  266,  308 
Waterford,  Lady,  79 
Watts,    Mr.    George    Frederick,   the 

frescoes   of,   160 
Wellington,     the     Duke     of,     132, 

167 
Whittier,    Mr.    John    G.,    161,    162, 

192 
Williams,  General,  84 
Williams,  Mr.  Penry,   132,   134 


222 

Wilton    House,  311,  312 
Winged  Victories,  the,  24 


Yeatman,  Mr.  James  E.,  262;  letter 
of,  263,  264 


Zanetti,  Dr.,  45 

Zenobia,  the  statue  of,  119,  122,  123, 

127,   140,   150,   151,   160,   184,   191, 

.199,  202,  207,  278,  290 


APPENDICES 


Benton   Statue,   362 
Crawford,  373 
Humbert,  King,  376 
Lincoln,  368,  369 


Raphael,    374 

Thorwaldsen,  373,  374 

Vogelberg,   373 

Zenobia,  363,  364,  365,  366,  367,  368 


DATE  DUE 


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